Transcript of [sub] The Tell-Tale Heart by Annette Jung

But why would you say that I am mad,

an observer Healthline.

Calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea

entered my brain, but once conceived,it won't hit me day and night.

There's no

passion, there doesn't.

I think it was his.

He had been kind of a virtual.

Whenever it fell upon me,my blood run cold and so by degrees,

I made up my mindto take my eyes off of the.

You fancy me, Mad

Mad Men, no, nothing,but you should have seen me with what?

Dissimulation?I went to work

every night about midnight.

I turned the lights of hisdoor and opened it.

Who would have loved to seehow cunning that proceeded?

How would a madman havebeen so wise is this?

But I found the I was closeand so it was impossible to do the work.

What was not the old man who vex?

Evil.

Then

one night.

I was more than usuallycautious in opening the door.

Perhaps he heard me.

Now you may think that Idrew back, but no know

his room was black,his pitch with a thick dark.

And so I knew that he could notsee the opening of the door.

Who is there?

He cried out.

Listen, the beating of the old man's heart

and now a new anxiety sees me.

The sound would be heard by your neighbor.

The old man had come.

He was stone stone dead,his I would trouble me no more.

You still think me mad, man,

you would think so no longer.

When I described the wise precautionsI took with a concealment of the body.

When

I.

The shriek had been heard by a neighbor

during the night,suspicion of foul play had been aroused.

What had I to fear?

The streak, I said,was my own a bad dream.

The old man I mentioned was absentin the country.

I took my visitors all over the house.

I beat them Satchwell.

I led them at length to his chamber

and desired them hereto rest from their fatigues.

While I myself,in the wild audacity of my perfect trial,

placed my own seed uponthe very spot beneath me.

We posed the corpse of the victim.

My Mannar had convinced themI was singularly at ease.

They sat and chatted familiar things.

But he along.

And we shouldn't call

heroes an object thatfalls into high gear.

The pilot gesticulations,why would they not be?

Oh, God.

What could I do?

Was it possible they had no.

Oh, my God.

Yes, I thought anything wasbetter than this I got.

In this division,I felt I missed three months on the lines

and people did get off the plane andthis is the beginning of this hideous.