In the morning I throw open the glass doors to the balcony and step out. It is warm and humid, but to find the sun is impossible. By the looks of things it will be gray all day.
"Ellen," I say, shaking her gently. "You are in Spain, Ellen, and you are sleeping. Why would anyone want to sleep in Spain?"
She turns over to face me and lifts an eyebrow. She knows where she is and she can sleep anywhere she likes.