The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke all seemed to be waiting for something to occur the dead man only was without expectation. By extending an arm anyone of them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his arms at his sides. Seven of them sat against the rough log walls, silent, motionless, and the room being small, not very far from the table. The shadow of the book would then throw into obscurity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces and figures for besides the reader, eight other men were present. It was an old account book, greatly worn and the writing was not, apparently, very legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of the candle to get a stronger light on it. ¡Y perdón por el vocabulario! Usualmente no me gusta maldecir pero a veces siento que debo ir con la corriente, ¿saben?Įs dominio público, lo pueden encontrar ACA.I: One Does Not Always Eat What is on the Tableīy the light of a tallow candle which had been placed on one end of a rough table a man was reading something written in a book. ¡Una genial sorpresa! Con ganas de leer más de este Maldito Autor. Otra pequeña historia de diez páginas que merece un lugar especial en mi estante de cortos. Para ser un clásico esto fue muy fácil de leer. ¡Maldita Sea! ¡Esto estuvo condenadamente bueno! Esto se sintió como uno de los mejores de Allan Poe, pero sin el lenguaje pomposo. Un cadáver destrozado más allá de lo imaginable, un testigo poco confiable, y el diario personal de la víctima para tratar de entender quién lo mató, o qué. A fine surprise! Looking forward to reading more of this Damned Author.Īnd apologies for my french! I usually don’t like to curse but sometimes I feel I need to go with the flow, you know? Another tiny story of ten pages that deserves a special place among my shorts shelf. Also heavily reminded me of The Mezzotint. For a classic this was very down to earth. Well I'll be Damned! This was Damn Good! This felt like one of Allan Poe’s finest, but without the pompous vocabulary. A mangled corpse beyond recognition, an unreliable witness, and the personal diary of the victim to try to understand who killed him, or what.

The damned thing bierce