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Although it was the first time my mother saw him, he had seen her the previous
Sunday at eight o'clock Mass, guarded by her Aunt Francisca Simodosea Mejía.
He had seen them again the following Tuesday, sewing beneath the almond trees
near the front door to the family house. By the night of the wake, he had
learned she was the daughter of Colonel Nicolás Márquez, to whom he was
already bearing letters of introduction. After that night, she learned he was
a bachelor, with a facility for falling in
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