One Hundred Years of Solitude

with the bandage on that
remote morning when he had
come back to Macondo
condemned to death.

            How awful,  he  said,   the

way time passes!

            The regular army    had to

protect the house. He arrived
amid insults, spat upon,
accused of having accelerated
the war in order to sell it for a
better price. He was
trembling with fever and cold