One Hundred Years of Solitude

one morning, almost two
months after his return, she
heard him come into the
bedroom. Then, instead of
fleeing, instead of shouting as
she had thought she would,
she let herself be saturated
with a soft feeling of
relaxation. She felt him slip
in under the mosquito netting
as he had done when he was a
child, as he had always done,
and she could not repress her
cold sweat and the chattering