You know that something terrible is going to happen when the narrator calls himself

Read this story, adapted from The Cask of Amontillado, by the first American writer of mysteries and horror stories, Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849). Then Answer questions 3below. The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is forgiven when the avenger is responding to a greater wrong.     It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my way, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that... Show more

Read this story, adapted from The Cask of Amontillado, by the first American writer of mysteries and horror stories, Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849). Then Answer questions 3below.

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is forgiven when the avenger is responding to a greater wrong.    
It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my way, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile <em>now</em> was at the thought of his suffering.    
He had a weak point—this Fortunato—although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his knowledge of wine. In painting and jewels, Fortunato, like his Italian countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; I was skillful in the Italian wines myself, and bought largely whenever I could.    
It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He approached me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore a multi-colored costume and a conical cap with bells.    
I said to him: 'My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a container of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.'    
'How?' he said. 'Amontillado? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!'    
'I have my doubts,' I replied; 'and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.'    
'Amontillado!'    
'I have my doubts.'    
'Amontillado!'    
'And I must satisfy them.'    
'Amontillado!'    
'I am on my way to Luchresi. If anyone has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me—'    
'Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.'    
'And yet some fools will say that his taste is a match for your own.'    
'Come, let us go.'    
'Where?'    
'To your vaults.'    
'My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have somewhere to go. Luchresi—'    
'I have no engagement; come.'    
'My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are terribly damp.'    
'Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.'    
Fortunato took my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a hooded cloak closely around me, I allowed him to hurry me to my home.    
I took two lighted torches, and giving one to Fortunato, took him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs …    
The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.    
'The wine,' he said.    
'It is farther on,' said I; 'but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls.'    
He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two watery eyes that distilled the look of intoxication.    
'Nitre?' he asked.    
'Nitre,' I replied. 'How long have you had that cough?'    
'Ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh! —ugh! ugh! ugh!'    
My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.    
'It is nothing,' he said, at last.    
'Come,' I said, with decision, 'we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi—'    
'Enough,' he said; 'the cough’s a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.'    
'True—true,' I replied.    

 

- Adapted from The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe.

 

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