The Tell Tale Heart
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
true. Nervous. Very, very dreadfully nervous. I had been in am But why will you say that? I am mad. The disease had sharpened. My sense is not destroyed. Not told them above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in heaven and the earth. I heard many things in ****. How then am I mad? Hearken and observe How healthily, How calmly I tell you the whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea into 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 one of his eyes resembled that 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. Now this is the point. You fancy me, Matt. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded. With what? Caution With what? Foresight? With what dissimulation. I went to work. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it Oh so gently. And then when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out. And then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it him. I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the openings so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. What a madman have been so wise is this. And then when my head was well within the room, I undid the lantern cautiously. Oh, so cautiously, cautiously for the hinges Creak. I ended it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night, just about midnight. But I found the I always closed and so was impossible to do. The work for was not the old man who vexed me but his evil eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone and enquiring how he had passed the night. So you see, he would have been very profound, old man, indeed to suspect that every night, just a 12 I looked in upon him while he slept upon the eighth night. I was more than usually cautious and opening the door a watches. Minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that they're I waas opening the door little by little. And he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea and perhaps he heard me for he moved in the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you might think that I drew back, but no, His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, for the shutters were closed, fastened through fear of robbers. And so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. I had my head in and was about to open the lantern when my thumb slipped upon the thin fastening and the old man spring up in bed, crying out. Who's there? I kept quiet still and said nothing for a whole hour. I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening, just as I have done night after night, hearkening to the death that watches in the wall. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or grief. Oh, no, It was the low, stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well, many a night just at midnight, when all the world slept. It was welled up from my own bosom deepening with its dreadful echo, the tears that distracted me. I say. I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt and pitied him. Although I chuckled it hard. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first light noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them cause Lis, but could not. You've been saying to himself, It's nothing but the wind in the chimney. It is only a mouse crossing the floor, or it is merely a cricket, which has made a single chirp. Yes, you've been trying to comfort himself with the supposition.