One Hundred Years of Solitude

Rebeca. The only one who
had not lost for a single
minute the awareness that she
was alive and rotting in her
wormhole was the implacable
and aging Amaranta. She
thought of her at dawn, when
the ice of her heart awakened
her in her solitary bed, and
she thought of her when she
soaped her withered breasts
and her lean stomach, and
when she put on the white
stiff-starched petticoats and