“He has sorrow in his eyes,” La Garduna said suddenly, and from that moment respected him. 

“Loneliness is an absence of time.”

“Your soul is no different from your dreams. Both are instantaneous.”

He could listen and taste and smell almost supernaturally, like the man hanged from Owl Creek Bridge, who at the instant of his death could see the veining of each leaf; more: the very insects upon them; more: the prismatic colors in all the dew drops upon a million blades of grass.

…unforgettable wounds…

She saw herself in a ballroom lined with mirrors. She saw herself entering the mirrors…

…at the hour when one whispers in secret, not to awaken the earth…

A whistling sound settled over everything as the old gringo stared with atavistic horror at the rows of hanged men strung on the telegraph poles, mouths agape, tongues protruding. They were all whistling…

…at that very instant, I swear to you, mi amiga, my friend, the bells started pealing for no reason at all…

…and his life was suspended, outside of time, like a drop of water on a solitary winter leaf…

“Now, tell me the truth, by whatever is holy to you; don’t let me leave without hearing your secret.”