One Hundred Years of Solitude

convulsed the ghost of José
Arcadio Buendía under the
chestnut tree with impatience
and made him wander all
through the house even in
broad daylight. Ever since the
railroad had been officially
inaugurated and had begun to
arrive with regularity on
Wednesdays at eleven oclock
and the primitive wooden
station with a desk, a
telephone, and a ticket
window had been built, on