One Hundred Years of Solitude

of those who worked hardest
not to be conquered by
idleness. He had gone home
for some minor matter on the
night that Mr. Brown
unleashed the storm, and
Fernanda tried to help him
with a half-blown-out
umbrella that she found in a
closet. I dont need it, he said.
Ill stay until it clears. That
was not, of course, an
ironclad promise, but he
would accomplish it literally.