One Hundred Years of Solitude

her long hair and rolled it
about her ears as death had
told her it should be on her
bier. Then she asked Úrsula
for a mirror and for the first
time in more than forty years
she saw her face, devastated
by age and martyrdom, and
she was surprised at how
much she resembled the
mental image that she had of
herself. Úrsula understood by
the silence in the bedroom
that it had begun to grow