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THE TELL-TALE HEART
I tell you the story of how I killed the old man for whom I cared for. You tell me I am mad, but I am not. Ha! Mad, me? I think not. For the way I carried out the killing of the old man is not the way of someone who is insane.
The old man was always kind to me. He never vexed me, never wronged me. But his eye, his vulture eye, caused me great distress. Over the course of a few nights, I watched him, deciding when to kill the man.
Upon the eighth night of watching him, he was awake. I could see his eye, and decided that this was the best time to strike. The old man was dead.
I disassembled the corpse, and hid the body underneath the floorboards. Mad, am I? I think not. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
A pair of police officers had come to investigate a shriek heard in the night. They were oblivious to the crime which i had commited. I chatted with them, until I heard the beating of the old man's heart.
They were making a mockery of me. They had known all along, and so, I confessed my crime. I had them tear up the floorboards, and there was the old man, and the beating of his tell-tale heart.
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