One Hundred Years of Solitude

severe, that woman of
unbreakable nerves who at no
moment in her life had been
heard to sing seemed to be
everywhere, from dawn until
quite late at night, always
pursued by the soft
whispering of her stiff,
starched petticoats. Thanks to
her the floors of tamped
earth, the unwhitewashed
mud walls, the rustic, wooden
furniture they had built
themselves were always dean,