One Hundred Years of Solitude

her, and then he would sleep
like a stone that was not
concerned by the slightest
indication of worry. Only he
knew at that time that his
confused heart was
condemned to uncertainty
forever. At first, intoxicated
by the glory of his return, by
his remarkable victories, he
had peeped into the abyss of
greatness. He took pleasure in
keeping by his right hand the
Duke of Marlborough, his