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The Old Man's Hour Comes
I saw it with perfect distinctness, all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones. But i could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for i had directed the ray, as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot. And have i not told you that what you mistake for madness but over acuteness of the sense? Now i say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the oldman's heart. The old man's hour had come. With a loud yell