One Hundred Years of Solitude

Cotes, and although his body
and soul no longer permitted
him the debauches of days
gone by, he lost no chance to
arrange them and to dig out
the accordion, which by then
had some keys held in place
by shoelaces. At home,
Amaranta was weaving her
interminable shroud and
Úrsula dragged about in her
decrepitude through the
depths of the shadows where
the only thing that was still