One Hundred Years of Solitude

perhaps death would not be
announced that time because
it did not depend on chance
but on the will of his
executioners. He spent the
night awake, tormented by
the pain of his sores. A little
before dawn he heard steps in
the hallway. Theyre coming,
he said to himself, and for no
reason he thought of José
Arcadio Buendía, who at that
moment was thinking about
him under the dreary dawn of