view updated

Test Prism


True!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been

and am! but 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. I heard all things in

the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How,

then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily—how

calmly I can tell you the whole story.


   It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain;

but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there

was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He

had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For

his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this!

He had the eye of a vulture—a pale blue eye, with a film over

it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by

degrees—very gradually—I made up my mind to take the life

of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.