He recognised her despite the uproar, through his tears of unrepeatable sorrow at dying without her, and he looked at her for the last and final time with eyes more luminous, more grief-stricken, more grateful than she had ever seen them in half a century of a shared life, and he managed to say to her with his last breath: Only God knows how much I loved you. Memories of My Melancholy Whores, García Márquez.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 09:16:26 +0000
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