One Hundred Years of Solitude

premature dusk from a
rocking chair and thinking
about Petra Cotes without
quivering. There would have
been no problem in going
back to Fernandas insipid
love, because her beauty had
become solemn with age, but
the rain had spared him from
all emergencies of passion
and had filled him with the
spongy serenity of a lack of
appetite. He amused himself
thinking about the things that