Edgar Allan Poe - The Tell-Tale Heart - The Tell-Tale Heart Poe Edgar Allan Published 1843 Categorie(s Fiction Horror Short Stories Source

Edgar Allan Poe - The Tell-Tale Heart - The Tell-Tale Heart...

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The Tell-Tale Heart Poe, Edgar Allan Published: 1843 Categorie(s): Fiction, Horror, Short Stories Source: 1
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About Poe: Edgar Allan Poe was an American poet, short story writer, playwright, editor, critic, essayist and one of the leaders of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of the macabre and mystery, Poe was one of the early American practitioners of the short story and a pro- genitor of detective fiction and crime fiction. He is also credited with contributing to the emergent science fiction genre.Poe died at the age of 40. The cause of his death is undetermined and has been attributed to al- cohol, drugs, cholera, rabies, suicide (although likely to be mistaken with his suicide attempt in the previous year), tuberculosis, heart disease, brain congestion and other agents. Source: Wikipedia Also available on Feedbooks for Poe: The Raven (1845) The Fall of the House of Usher (1839) The Pit and the Pendulum (1842) The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841) Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840) The Cask of Amontillado (1846) The Masque of the Red Death (1842) The Black Cat (1842) The Purloined Letter (1844) A Descent into the Maelström (1841) Note: This book is brought to you by Feedbooks Strictly for personal use, do not use this file for commercial purposes. 2
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TRUE! – nervous – very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses – not destroyed – not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how health- ily – how calmly I can tell you the whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture –a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees – very gradually –I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded –with what caution –with what foresight –with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it –oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head.
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