One Hundred Years of Solitude

pistol, revealed the same
watchful and resolute tension
as his look. His head, with
deep recessions in the hairline
now, seemed to have been
baked in a slow oven. His
face, tanned by the salt of the
Caribbean, had acquired a
metallic hardness. He was
preserved against imminent
old age by a vitality that had
something to do with the
coldness of his insides. He
was taller than when he had