Бочонок амонтильядо

           Iagainpaused,andholdingtheflambeauxoverthemason-work,threwafewfeebleraysuponthefigurewithin. 

           Asuccessionofloudandshrillscreams,burstingsuddenlyfromthethroatofthechainedform,seemedtothrustmeviolentlyback. ForabriefmomentIhesitated,Itrembled. Unsheathingmyrapier,Ibegantogropewithitabouttherecess;butthethoughtofaninstantreassuredme. Iplacedmyhanduponthesolidfabricofthecatacombs,andfeltsatisfied. Ireapproachedthewall;Irepliedtotheyellsofhimwhoclamoured. Ire-echoed,Iaided,Isurpassedtheminvolumeandinstrength. Ididthis,andtheclamourergrewstill. 

           Itwasnowmidnight,andmytaskwasdrawingtoaclose. Ihadcompletedtheeighth,theninthandthetenthtier. Ihadfinishedaportionofthelastandtheeleventh;thereremainedbutasinglestonetobefittedandplasteredin. Istruggledwithitsweight;Iplaceditpartiallyinitsdestinedposition. Butnowtherecamefromoutthenichealowlaughthaterectedthehairsuponmyhead. Itwassucceededbyasadvoice,whichIhaddifficultyinrecognizingasthatofthenobleFortunato. Thevoicesaid— 

           “Ha!ha!ha!—he!he!he!—averygoodjoke,indeed—anexcellentjest. Wewillhavemanyarichlaughaboutitatthepalazzo—he!he!he!—overourwine—he!he!he!” 

           “TheAmontillado!”Isaid. 

           “He!he!he!—he!he!he!—yes,theAmontillado.