One Hundred Years of Solitude

that showed the desperate
defense of superimposed
patches of white zinc, and in
his hand he was carrying a
straw hat he had bought the
Saturday before. In all of his
life he could never have been
as frightened as at that
moment, but he had a dignity
and presence that spared him
from humiliation and a
genuine elegance that was
defeated only by tarnished
hands and nails that had been