One Hundred Years of Solitude

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many times postponed,
putting her resignation aside
and shitting on everything
once and for all and drawing
out of her heart the infinite
stacks of bad words that she
had been forced to swallow
over a century of conformity.


            Shit!   she shouted.

Amaranta, who was
starting to put the clothes into
the trunk, thought that she
had been bitten by a scorpion.

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