The Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Volume 2


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advanced as to render farther preservation impossible. And, even  
then, my mortal terrors would listen to no reason--would accept no  
consolation. I entered into a series of elaborate precautions. Among  
other things, I had the family vault so remodelled as to admit of being  
readily opened from within. The slightest pressure upon a long lever  
that extended far into the tomb would cause the iron portal to fly back.  
There were arrangements also for the free admission of air and light,  
and convenient receptacles for food and water, within immediate reach of  
the coffin intended for my reception. This coffin was warmly and softly  
padded, and was provided with a lid, fashioned upon the principle of the  
vault-door, with the addition of springs so contrived that the feeblest  
movement of the body would be sufficient to set it at liberty. Besides  
all this, there was suspended from the roof of the tomb, a large bell,  
the rope of which, it was designed, should extend through a hole in the  
coffin, and so be fastened to one of the hands of the corpse. But, alas?  
what avails the vigilance against the Destiny of man? Not even these  
well-contrived securities sufficed to save from the uttermost agonies of  
living inhumation, a wretch to these agonies foredoomed!  
There arrived an epoch--as often before there had arrived--in which I  
found myself emerging from total unconsciousness into the first  
feeble and indefinite sense of existence. Slowly--with a tortoise  
gradation--approached the faint gray dawn of the psychal day. A torpid  
uneasiness. An apathetic endurance of dull pain. No care--no hope--no  
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