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- ...A sleep like that of death
- A HUGE PENDULUM... Such as we see on antique clocks. I fancied I saw it in motion; it's sweep was brief and of course, slow.
- I OBSERVED with what HORROR it is needless to say that it was formed of a crescent of glittering steel, the under edge as keen as that of a RAZOR. Like a razor also, it seemed massy and heavy, and the whole hissed as it swung through the air. I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me by monkish ingenuity in TORTURE. I knew that surprise, or entrapment into torture, formed an important portion of all the grotesquerie of these dungeon DEATHS. Even amid the agonies of that period, there rushed to my mind a half-formed thought of joy of HOPE. Yet, what business had I with hope? Down still unceasingly still inevitably down! I shrunk convulsively at its every sweep. It was hope the hope that triumphs on the rack that whispers to the death-condemned even in the dungeons of THE INQUISITION.
- I surveyed the ceiling of my prison. In one of it's panels a very singlular figure, that of time as he is commonly represented, save that, in lieu of a scythe he held what I presumed to be the pictured image of...
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