"The storeroom where Eliza and Joaquin made love on the huge bundle of flowered cretonne draperies that in the summer replaced the green velvet parlor drapes was on the ground floor. They loved one another surrounded by solemn armoires, hatboxes, and Miss Rose's cloth-wrapped spring dresses. Neither the cold nor the smell of mothballs bothered them, because they were beyond practical concerns, beyond fear of the consequences, and beyond their own puppylike clumsiness. They did not know what to do, but they made it up as they went, befuddled and confounded, in total silence, guiding one another with little skill. At twenty-one, he was as much a virgin as she. ... Despite their virginity and their terrible fear of being surprised, they were able to find in the darkness what they sought. They unfastened buttons and ties, shed their modesty and found themselves naked, suking in each other's breath and saliva. They inhaled feral scents, feverishly put this here and that there with an honest desire to decipher enigmas, plumb the other's depths, and lose themselves in the same soul. ...

Before dawn, Joaquin Andieta left by the same library window and Eliza went back to bed, drained. While she slept, wrapped in several blankets, he had a two hours' walk downhill through the storm. Silently he slipped through the town without attracting the attention of the watchmen, and reached his house just as the church bells were ringing for early mass. He had planned to go in quietly, wash, change the collar of his shirt, and go off to work in his wet suit, since he had no other, but his mother was awake, waiting for him with toasted stale bread and hot water for mate, as she did every morning.

'Where have you been, son?' she asked, so sadly that he could not deceive her.

'Discovering love, Mama,' he answered, throwing his arms around her, his face radiant."

(Isabel Allende, Daughter of Fortune, pp. 111-112)

para mi amor...

tienes mi corazon, mi amor, mi alma, mi todo.