One Hundred Years of Solitude

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would be. Without saying a
word he handed them, along
with the little gold fish, to the
wise Catalonian and the latter
examined them, his eyelids
contracting like two clams.
You must be mad, he said in
his own language, shrugging
his shoulders, and he handed
back to Aureliano the five
books and the little fish.


            You can have    them    he  said

in Spanish. The last man who

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