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A collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s short fiction, ordered by date of publication.

Page 1003 of 1087
Table of Contents

The Cask of Amontillado

be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said⁠—

“Ha! ha! ha!⁠—he! he!⁠—a very good joke indeed⁠—an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo⁠—he! he! he!⁠—over our wine⁠—he! he! he!”

“The Amontillado!” I said.

“He! he! he!⁠—he! he! he!⁠—yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.”

“Yes,” I said, “let us

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