The Cask of Amontillado

The Cask of Amontillado
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  • The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.
  • To your vaults.
  • Come, let us go.
  • Whither?
  • My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold.
  • I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.  These were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned 
  • The vaults are insufferably damp.  They are encrusted with niter.
  • Let us go, nevertheless.  The cold is merely nothing.
  • The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.
  • The Pipe?
  • ugh! ugh! ugh! 
  • It is farther on.  But observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls,
  • I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave.  He emptied it at a breath.  His eyes flashed a fierce light.  He laughed and threw the bottle upward with a gesticulation I did not understand.
  • You do not comprehend? Then you are not of the brotherhood.
  • Not I.
  • A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite.  In its surface were two staples, distant from each other bout two feet horizontally.  From one of these depended a short chain, from each other a padlock.
  • No answer still. I thrush a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within.  There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells.
  • But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply.  I grew impatient.  I called aloud-
  • Fortunato!
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