One Hundred Years of Solitude

Pietro Crespi she felt the
same desire to weep that she
had had in adolescence, as if
time and harsh lessons had
meant nothing. The rolls of
music that she herself had
thrown into the trash with the
pretext that they had rotted
from dampness kept spinning
and playing in her memory.
She had tried to sink them
into the swampy passion that
she allowed herself with her
nephew Aureliano José and