One Hundred Years of Solitude

fiancé, which he had to push
aside materially with his pale
and ringless fingers in order
to leave the house at eight
oclock. They had put together
a delightful album with the
postcards that Pietro Crespi
received from Italy. They
were pictures of lovers in
lonely parks, with vignettes
of hearts pierced with arrows
and golden ribbons held by
doves. Ive been to this park in
Florence, Pietro Crespi would