One Hundred Years of Solitude

looking for the most beautiful
woman who had ever
appeared on the face of the
earth, and when they went
over the mountains along
Indian trails and entered the
gloomy city in whose stone
alleys the funereal bronze
bells of thirty-two churches
tolled. That night they slept in
the abandoned colonial
mansion on boards that
Fernanda laid on the floor of
a room invaded by weeds,