One Hundred Years of Solitude

written down on a piece of
paper. The second view of the
deserted town, barely
illuminated by the yellowish
bulbs of the street lights, did
not awaken in Aureliano any
more curiosity than the first.
José Arcadio, had come to
think that he had run away,
when he reappeared, panting
a little because of his haste,
dragging legs that enclosure
and lack of mobility had
made weak and heavy. His