One Hundred Years of Solitude

him.

I beg your pardon, he
murmured.

            She remained    motionless  in

the center of the room filled
with knickknacks, examining
inch by inch the giant with
square shoulders and with a
tattoo of ashes on his
forehead, and through the
haze of dust she saw him in
the haze of other times with a
double-barreled shotgun on