“What she did know, unfortunately, was that she had to reconsider everything she'd ever willed herself to believe about her husband.”

“But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?”

“Very unfortunately, she had no husband. She had never had a husband, and therefore did not kill a husband.”

“What madness! Yet she would do it, if she could force herself. She'd become, she believed, a stronger person: a willful, resolute. Like the man who adored her, reckless.”

“Admittedly, there was a lot she still didn't know about him, but she did know this: He completed her in a way that she'd never thought possible. Knowledge isn't everything, she told herself, and she knew then that, in Nana's words, he was the toast to her butter.”

“Whatever her husband had done, it couldn't be as bad as what she herself had done.”