One Hundred Years of Solitude

parvenus. Her heart of
compressed ash, which had
resisted the most telling
blows of daily reality without
strain, fell apart with the first
waves of nostalgia. The need
to feel sad was becoming a
vice as the years eroded her.
She became human in her
solitude. Nevertheless, the
morning on which she
entered the kitchen and found
a cup of coffee offered her by
a pale and bony adolescent