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Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine.
Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers-of my sagacity.
His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and kept pushing it.
I was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped on the tip fastening, and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out- Who's there?
He had been saying to himself-"It is nothing but wind in the chimney-it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made but a single chirp."
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a simple dim ray like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.
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