One Hundred Years of Solitude

the world. She had been born
and raised in a city six
hundred miles away, a
gloomy city where on ghostly
nights the coaches of the
viceroys still rattled through
the cobbled streets, Thirty-
two belfries tolled a dirge at
six in the afternoon. In the
manor house, which was
paved with tomblike slabs,
the sun was never seen. The
air had died in the cypresses
in the courtyard, in the pale