Боченя амонтільядо

           Itwasaboutdusk,oneeveningduringthesuprememadnessofthecarnivalseason,thatIencounteredmyfriend. Heaccostedmewithexcessivewarmth,forhehadbeendrinkingmuch. Themanworemotley. Hehadonatight-fittingparti-stripeddress,andhisheadwassurmountedbytheconicalcapandbells. IwassopleasedtoseehimthatIthoughtIshouldneverhavedonewringinghishand. 

           Isaidtohim— “MydearFortunato,youareluckilymet. Howremarkablywellyouarelookingto-day. ButIhavereceivedapipeofwhatpassesforAmontillado,andIhavemydoubts.” 

           “How?”saidhe. “Amontillado,Apipe?Impossible! Andinthemiddleofthecarnival!” 

           “Ihavemydoubts,”Ireplied;“andIwassillyenoughtopaythefullAmontilladopricewithoutconsultingyouinthematter. Youwerenottobefound,andIwasfearfuloflosingabargain.” 

           “Amontillado!” 

           “Ihavemydoubts.” 

           “Amontillado!” 

           “AndImustsatisfythem.” 

           “Amontillado!” 

           “Asyouareengaged,IamonmywaytoLuchresi. Ifanyonehasacriticalturnitishe. Hewilltellme—” 

           “LuchresicannottellAmontilladofromSherry.” 

           “Andyetsomefoolswillhaveitthathistasteisamatchforyourown. 

           “Come,letusgo.” 

           “Whither?” 

           “Toyourvaults.”