“Vallejo was moody but only on the outside, like a man who had been huddling in the shadows a long time. He had a solemn nature and his face resembled a rigid, quasi-hieratic mask. But his inner self was something else again. I often saw him (especially when we managed to pry him away from his domineering wife, a tyrannical, proud Frenchwoman who was a concierge's daughter), yes, I saw him jumping up and down happily, like a schoolboy. Later he would slip back into his moroseness and his submission.” (from ‘Conjieso que he vivido: Memorias’, Pablo Neruda)
running the whole length of the horizon...