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The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc.
“The Amontillado!” ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. “True,” I replied; “the Amontillado.” As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar.
The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.
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