LiToC Day 18

Only another 2o pages or so.  The love/cholera juxtaposition  the S/Z of the book is finely focused when Florentino calls on Fermina, but suffers a boiling gripe of the bowels such that he has to excuse himself, and shit himself in his carriage. His carriage man finishes off this delicate little passage with the observation, that that looked like cholera. Always a joy to be able to right "that that" in a sentence.  We're moseying down the main straight of the relationship now, and had I had the time, or perhaps the inclination, I would have finished the book off this morning.  And then what? Nabakov, it's got to be Nabakov.