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growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could
not. He had been saying to himself--"It is nothing but the wind in the
chimney--it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a
cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to
comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain.
All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his
black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the
mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to
feel--although he neither saw nor heard--to feel the presence of my head
within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie
down, I resolved to open a little--a very, very little crevice in
the lantern. So I opened it--you cannot imagine how stealthily,
stealthily--until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the
spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.
It was open--wide, wide open--and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I
saw it with perfect distinctness--all a dull blue, with a hideous
veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see
nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray
as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but
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