The Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Volume 2


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had now fully recovered the use of my visual faculties--and yet it was  
dark--all dark--the intense and utter raylessness of the Night that  
endureth for evermore.  
I endeavored to shriek-, and my lips and my parched tongue moved  
convulsively together in the attempt--but no voice issued from the  
cavernous lungs, which oppressed as if by the weight of some incumbent  
mountain, gasped and palpitated, with the heart, at every elaborate and  
struggling inspiration.  
The movement of the jaws, in this effort to cry aloud, showed me that  
they were bound up, as is usual with the dead. I felt, too, that I lay  
upon some hard substance, and by something similar my sides were,  
also, closely compressed. So far, I had not ventured to stir any of my  
limbs--but now I violently threw up my arms, which had been lying at  
length, with the wrists crossed. They struck a solid wooden substance,  
which extended above my person at an elevation of not more than six  
inches from my face. I could no longer doubt that I reposed within a  
coffin at last.  
And now, amid all my infinite miseries, came sweetly the cherub  
Hope--for I thought of my precautions. I writhed, and made spasmodic  
exertions to force open the lid: it would not move. I felt my wrists for  
the bell-rope: it was not to be found. And now the Comforter fled for  
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