One Hundred Years of Solitude

the most abject ones, and he
would make her materialize
in the smell of dry blood on
the bandages of the wounded,
in the instantaneous terror of
the danger of death, at all
times and in all places. He
had fled from her in an
attempt to wipe out her
memory, not only through
distance but by means of a
muddled fury that his
companions at arms took to
be boldness, but the more her