One Hundred Years of Solitude

remembered the fortune
buried in some place that only
Úrsula knew, but the
questions and astute
maneuvering that occurred to
him were of no use because
in the labyrinth of her
madness she seemed to
preserve enough of a margin
of lucidity to keep the secret
which she would reveal only
to the one who could prove
that he was the real owner of
the buried gold. She was so