The Marquis dusted off the Italian theorbo. He restrung it, tuned it with perseverance that could be understood only as love and once again accompanied the songs of the past, sung with the good voice and bad ear that neither years nor troubled memories had changed. This was when she asked him whether it was true that love conquered all, as the songs said.
'It is true,' he replied, 'but you would do well not to believe it.'
Of Love and Other Demons,
Gabriel Garcia Marquez