One Hundred Years of Solitude

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was it! he shouted. I knew it
was going to happen. And he
really believed it, for during
his prolonged imprisonment
as he manipulated the
material, he begged in the
depth of his heart that the
longed-for miracle should not
be the discovery of the
philosophers stone, or the
freeing of the breath that
makes metals live, or the
faculty to convert the hinges
and the locks of the house

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