One Hundred Years of Solitude

that time. His august head of
a tormented emperor had
acquired a strange air of
grandeur. He begged
Amarantas friends, the ones
who sewed with her on the
porch, to try to persuade her.
He neglected his business. He
would spend the day in the
rear of the store writing wild
notes, which he would send
to Amaranta with flower
petals and dried butterflies,
and which she would return