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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.
He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells.
"Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is precious. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible." "Enough," he said; "the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."
The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs.
It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier.
"He! he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone." "Yes," I said, "let us be gone." "For the love of God, Montresor!" "Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"
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