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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. How, then, am I mad? Observe how healthily - how calmly I can tell you the whole story . . .
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. I think it was . . .
A pale blue eye, with film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; -- very gradually -- I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and rid myself of the eye forever.
I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him; every night, about midnight . . .
I turned the latch of his door and opened it. when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head.
When my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously; a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. I did this for seven long nights --the eye always closed.
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