The Pit and the Pendulum

I was sick, sick under death with that long agony. And when at length they unbound me and I was permitted to sit, I felt my senses were leaving me.

The sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged into one green imderturn in a tongue. Yet for a while I saw, but without terrible exaggeration, I saw the soft and nearly-infraceptible waving of the sable draperies on the walls of the room.

I saw the flames of the seven tall candles which burned on the table. The silver lips of the black robe judges, and these lips appeared to me, hyped. The whitest paper, hyped as horror. I saw them writhe with a deadly lotion.

I saw them passion the syllables of my name. John Dahlbray. Captain John Dahlbray. Good Fathers, gentlemen. We hear you, my son. I am very weakened in firm. I have been confined for many months in a dungeon.

I have been tormented by nightmares. Conscience, one trust. Ray silence, Franton. Even now I have no knowledge of where I am, or to whom I may be speaking. You're speaking to me, my sir. I am Fra Pedro de Espidia, prior to the Dominican, Sub-Sigovia, and grand inquisitor for all Spain.

Is this the court of the Inquisition? It is. And don't help me. He will help you, my son, if you trust him. But I am a French officer. That is true. A soldier and creature of the archfean Napoleon Bonaparte.

But a French officer nonetheless. A prisoner of war. By what right you're trying in this court? Let the clerk read the charges against this prisoner. Pray silence, while the clerk reads the charges. The charges against the prisoner are as follows.