WEBVTT

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Suspense!

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Tonight, as we open a special limited series of five Friday night performances at this hour,

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suspense brings you an incomparable study in terror.

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This Edgar Allan Poe's The Pit and the Pendulum.

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In a new setting as a radio play especially written for suspense by contemporary master of the art, John Dixon Carr.

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As star this evening, we bring you a noted actor of the New York stage, Mr. Jose Ferrer.

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And as usual, Suspense is produced, edited and directed by William Spear.

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I was sick, sick unto death with that long agony.

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And when at length they unbound me and I was permitted to sit, I felt my senses were leaving me.

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The sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged into one dreamy indeterminate hum.

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Yet for a while I saw, but without terrible and exaggeration,

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I saw the soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies on the walls of the room.

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I saw the flames of the seven tall candles which burned on the table.

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I saw the lips of the black-robed judges, and these lips appeared to me white.

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White as paper, white as horror. I saw them writhe with a deadly locution.

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I saw them passion the syllables of my name.

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John Dalbray, Captain John Dalbray.

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Good Fathers, Gentlemen.

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We hear you, my son.

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I am very weak and infirm. I have been confined for many months in a dungeon.

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I have been tormented by nightmares.

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One conscience, one trust.

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Pray silence, Fra Antonio.

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Even now I have no knowledge of where I am or to whom I may be speaking.

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You're speaking to me, my son.

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I am Fra Pedro de Spidia, prior of the Dominicans of Segovia and Grand Inquisitor for all Spain.

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Is this the court of the Inquisition?

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It is.

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May God help me.

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He will help you, my son, if you trust him.

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But I am a French officer.

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That is true. A soldier and creature of the archfiend Napoleon Bonaparte.

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But a French officer, nonetheless. A prisoner of war.

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By what right do you try me in this court?

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Let the clerk read the charges against this prisoner.

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Pray silence while the clerk reads the charges.

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The charges against the prisoner are as follows.

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In primus, that he is one, John Dalbray, a captain of artillery in the army of Bonaparte,

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so-called Emperor of the French.

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This means nothing, as the prisoner says it is no crime. Proceed.

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Item, that on the fourth day of September, in the year of our Lord 1808,

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the said John Dalbray did wed a spouse and married that most noble lady,

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the Donna Beatrice Valdez, niece and ward of the Elucidus.

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One moment.

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Your Excellency spoke.

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Fra Antonio, was any cheat employed to trap this girl and to marry to Gamestor Will?

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No, we have no actual evidence of any cheat.

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Was the girl of age?

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I believe so.

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Then wherefore is the prisoner here?

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This marriage was a deplorable thing, if you'd like.

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Bonaparte himself is almost at the gates of Madrid.

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His General Assal menaces our city of Toledo itself,

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but lawful marriage, however regrettable, is no sin or crime.

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There are other matters in the indictment, I think.

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Then continue, but give us nothing that is not material.

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Item, that on the 12th of October, 1808, the said John Dalbray,

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being in command of a five-gun battery of light artillery,

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did direct the fire of his guns against the Holy Church of St. Martha the Innocent,

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and thereby of his wicked malice, destroyed that church utterly.

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Captain Dalbray, is this charge true?

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Yes.

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You admit it!

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Good Father, hear what I have to say.

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If you recall, the church blew up.

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You boast of your sin, young man!

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It blew up because it was stored with kegs of gunpowder for your army.

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I had every right to fire on it.

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And that is all the defense you have to make.

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I tell you, I had every right to fire on it! By military law...

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Is military law above God's law?

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I don't know. I did my duty.

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Long live the Emperor!

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Captain Dalbray, hear the sentence of this court.

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Must I stand up to hear it?

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I am very weak.

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I remain seated.

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I thank you most humbly.

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Had your offense been any except this,

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the Holy Office would have been merciful.

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Mark what I say.

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No man, however great his heresy,

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is ever condemned to be burnt in the fire.

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Fire!

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If he first recant and acknowledged the error of his ways.

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But for you, Jean Dalbray, it can be no mercy, no pity, no atonement.

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The only sentence of this court can be...

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Death! Death! Death!

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The secular of government armed to which we must release you

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is devised two ways of punishment in cases such as yours.

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You hear the tolling of bells.

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I hear them.

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It is the procession of the condemned going to the autodeté.

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Soon the yellow light of the flames will stream through the window.

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And flicker on floor and ceiling.

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No get in horror mortis into his mounibus.

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Domine in nomine patre.

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Most of those condemned out of mercy

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will be strangled before they are burned.

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It cannot be so with you, Jean Dalbray.

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You must die in one of two ways.

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Either with the direst of physical agony.

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A slow fire of green wood.

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Ice bandages about the head and heart

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so that the fire does not approach too quickly.

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Not too...

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Be silent, Frantonio.

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I cry your pardon, Grand Inquisitor.

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Or else, Jean Dalbray, you must die in a certain other way.

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I'm done with this.

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Pass your sentence and let me go.

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The law does not permit me to tell you now what this other way is.

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It must approach you slowly and force itself into your mind.

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It must stalk you like a tiger.

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It must bring you face to face at last with the king of carrots.

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The sentence of this court.

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I had swooned.

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Yet still I will not say that all of consciousness was lost.

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There are shadows of memory which tell me indistinctly

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of tall figures that lifted me and bore me in silence down.

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Down, still down, until a hideous dizziness

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suppressed me at that descent into the earth.

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There was a vague horror at my heart

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because of that heart's unnatural stillness.

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Then consciousness swam back to my wits again.

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Darkness, stone floor and darkness.

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Oh, oh Beatrice, oh my wife.

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Did you call me, Jean?

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Beatrice, was it you who spoke?

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Yes, Jean.

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You here in the dungeons of the Inquisition?

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I am not really speaking to you, my poor Jean.

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I am only in your imagination.

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Am I mad then?

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No, but your brain is fevered.

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You only think you hear me.

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I hear you clearly, as clearly as I once heard you.

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In the little church near the Abro where we were married.

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Yes.

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I destroyed that church, Beatrice.

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I had to.

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It was my commanding officer's order.

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I know, Jean.

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Be comforted.

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There are those who care.

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You won't leave me?

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As long as I am in your heart, I shall be here.

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I was strong once, but now I am weak.

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Once I was reckless, but now I am afraid.

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Where am I, Beatrice?

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What are they going to do to me?

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I cannot tell.

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Remember, my voice comes only from your own brain.

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Are you fettered?

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No.

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They have not chained you to the wall?

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No.

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They have taken away my uniform.

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They have given me sandals and a robe of what feels like coarse surge.

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But I am still free.

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Free.

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Take courage, Jean.

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Free and in the grasp of the Inquisition.

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Give me a kiss.

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Yes, Jean.

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It is completely dark.

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There is hardly any air.

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I dread to get up and I dread to stretch out my hand.

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Suppose they have burned me alive.

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Courage.

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Can you stand up?

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I think so.

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Then walk.

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Walk as far as you can.

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Measure the limits of the cell.

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If this is not a tomb...

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You are right, Beatrice.

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As always, I will try.

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Courage.

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Yes, courage.

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Now pray for a poor devil who always meant well.

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One pace.

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Two.

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Three.

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Four.

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You are very weak, Jean.

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Rest a moment.

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Yes.

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Yes.

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Where are you now, Beatrice?

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In the flesh, I mean.

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You know that, Jean.

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In the old house by the olive grove.

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Scorned of my people.

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Yes.

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I know it.

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Each morning I climb to the hilltop and watch.

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Go on.

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Sometimes I think I hear gunfields rumble in the hills.

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And long moving columns with the red dust rising above them.

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Go on.

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First come the heavy cavalry in plume-crested helmets.

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On their flanks, wheeling like hawks.

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Light hasars in blue and scarlet.

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And behind them in a glitter of bayonets as vast as light points on the sea.

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Rank upon rank.

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The long gray coats and tall bare skin caps of...

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The Old Gods and the Grand Armies.

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It is only a vision, my dear one.

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They do not come.

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Will they ever come, dear Beatrice?

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I cannot tell.

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Then I must face what has been prepared for me.

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Beatrice.

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Yes, Jean.

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I tried to walk. I took some steps.

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Four steps, yes.

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In which direction? I can remember.

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Are you facing the same way?

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I don't know. Perhaps.

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Then walk again. Try.

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Keep your hand in front of you.

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Yes. As Robin leads me, the floor is treacherous with slagging.

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I'll try. Four pieces.

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Five. Six. Seven.

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It can't be a tune.

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Eight. Nine. Ten.

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Look out!

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I'm all right. I felt the rope grip me.

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But...

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What is it?

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My hand is in front of me.

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Lower than my face.

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But I feel nothing.

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Nothing, Jean?

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It's a pit. A circular pit.

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And I fell on...

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On the very edge of it.

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It would have made you walk into it.

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Yes.

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There's a loose fragment of rock just inside the edge.

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If I can dislodge it...

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Listen.

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Water.

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There's something down there.

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Rats, it may be.

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Rats, yes. But something else.

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I heard it move.

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So do I.

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Accidents saved me.

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They would have had me plunged there symbolically like the descent of the soul

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to keep company with something else.

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And quick death forms no part of their plan.

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What is in the pit, Jean?

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I can't say.

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But you were saved.

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Saved, Beatrice. Saved.

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From the imposition.

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My torture has been merely...

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Postponed.

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Please, sleep well upon me.

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A sleep like that of death.

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How long it lasted, I know not.

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But when I opened my eyes once again, I could see.

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Yes, see.

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My prison was large and lofty, its walls formed of massive iron plates bolted or joined together.

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A wild sulfurous luster, I could not trace its origin, lit up the dungeon.

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And the circular pit and the crudely dodged skeleton figures painted in evil colors on the iron walls.

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Skeleton figures, demon figures, gargoyle figures.

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Their colors a little blurred as from the effects of the damp.

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And I...

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Must approach you slowly and force itself into your mind.

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It must stalk you like a tiger.

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It must bring you face to face at last with the king of terror.

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I now lay on my back and at full length and on a low framework of wood.

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To this framework I was securely bound by a long fastening resembling a surgical bandage.

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Bound?

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But why?

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Why? Why? Why?

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The bandage passed round and round my body, leaving at liberty only my head and my left arm.

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With much exertion I could supply myself with food from an earthen dish on the floor beside me.

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It was meat, highly seasoned, and there was no water.

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Beatrice, Beatrice, where are you?

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I am here, Jean, as always.

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My voice sounds stronger.

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Does it, Jean?

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I can see you now. I can see you as clearly as I saw you months ago.

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How I wish it were true.

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You were born in the parasol you carried in summer and the high-waisted blue dress...

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You are weaker, my dear, and more fevered.

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Have I been asleep?

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Yes, Jean.

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They must have been here while I slept. They have bound me.

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Why?

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Why? Why? Why?

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Stop those voices! Stop them!

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Mine too, Jean. I am not here either, you know.

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Don't drive me away.

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Beatrice, look!

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Where?

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At the ceiling of this room, 30, 40 feet up. What do you see?

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Rated on the ceiling, a figure of Father Time.

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Anything else?

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But Father Time carries no scythe.

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He carries instead what looks like a gigantic pendulum from an ancient clock.

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About one thing I swear I am in my right senses. I saw that pendulum move.

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Painting cannot move.

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Yet I swear the pendulum did. It swung a little, back and forth, just like a real pendulum.

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Try not to trouble your brain.

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Father Time is not like those other paintings dogged on the walls, the imps and devils and skeletons.

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That pendulum is real. Beatrice, take care!

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Take care of what? You are not looking at the pendulum now.

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Take care of the rats! The rats from the pit!

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I see them.

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They're swarming out in dozens. You can see their glimmer.

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One of them ran across the hem of your dress.

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Did it, Jean?

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What do I want?

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They have caught the scent of the meat in the dish beside you.

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You'll not get it. Go, go away, you vermin!

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Move your hand above the plate, Jean, move!

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Beatrice, where are you going? I can hardly hear you.

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You are sending me away.

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I'm sending you away?

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My poor loved one, you can't bear to see the rats running about my feet, can you?

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Even when you know I'm not here.

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Beatrice!

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It is true, Jean. You are sending me.

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Yes, it's true.

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Go! In a cell swarming with vermin, there are others I had rather see here.

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I had rather see...

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Did you call me, Captain Dalbray?

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Then in spirit I am here.

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Who are you?

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Don't you recognize me?

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No!

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I am that second Inquisitor, Frantoneo, whom you thought unfair at your trial.

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But we were not unfair. We administer the law. That is all.

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Go! I command you, go!

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Not until I have first told you what you already guess.

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Which is?

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As the Grand Inquisitor said, there are two forms of death for such as you.

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One, death with its direct physical torture.

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The other, death with its direct mental torture.

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And I have been condemned to the second...

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Your guess is good. Listen.

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Do you hear anything?

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Yes. I hear... something.

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Turn your eyes upwards. Look at the ceiling.

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Oh! The pendulum!

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Aye, the pendulum.

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It has descended.

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Only a foot or so as yet. As you notice, it is not really a pendulum.

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No?

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No. Its underside is a crescent, formed of sharp, of razor sharp steel.

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A ponderous weight, Captain Dalbray.

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Its movement is slow now.

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Soon it will take on momentum.

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It will swing wider and wider.

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Thirty feet perhaps.

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Presently as it swings, you will hear it hiss.

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And with each broad movement, it will creep a trifle lower.

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Steel is directly above me.

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Yes. Above the region of your heart.

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Lie still and look up at it.

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How long before?

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You need have no immediate fear.

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It will not be too soon.

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But how soon?

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In the name of Peter, give me some answer.

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Hours. Perhaps days.

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Its motion can be arrested while you sleep.

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And now Captain Dalbray, still in spirit, I leave you to your meditation.

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Minutes. Hours. Days.

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Down. Steadily down it crept.

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Days passed. It might have been many days.

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Before it swept so closely as to family with its accurate breath.

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The odor of the sharp steel forced itself into my nostrils.

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The right. To the left.

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Far. Wide.

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Restricted. For damned spirit.

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To my heart, with the stealthy pace of a tiger.

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Down. Certainly relentlessly down.

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I prayed. I wearied heaven with my prayer for its more speedy descent.

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I grew frantically mad and struggled to force myself up against that swinging, glittering death.

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With no avail.

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Down. Still. Unceasingly down.

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Still. Inevitably down.

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The sharp steel clashed past within three inches of my chest.

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And then, only then...

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I heard you calling, John. I am here.

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It is a strange thing, Beatrice. I am quite calm.

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You are resigned, then?

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No, that is the strange thing. Even now, I am not resigned.

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Is there a way out?

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How can there be? Ten, twelve more vibrations than it will fray the surge of my robe.

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One slightly, as a razor in a delicate hand.

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There will be many sweeps before it bites deep.

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I can't escape it.

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And yet...

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And yet...

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I could only use my wits.

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You kept me away from you, John. You locked me out of your thoughts.

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If I am here only in your thoughts, why should I fear the rats?

21:59.000 --> 22:02.000
The rats? The rats?

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Do they still swarm here?

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Across the floor and over the meat platter, they have taken nearly all your food.

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Yes, they are ravenous. And they have sharp teeth.

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Well...

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The meat is oily and spiced. If I take what remains of it, scatter you, Vernon,

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and rub that meat on the bandages that hold me here.

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Try it, John, try.

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It may be too late. If I move my body a fraction of an inch out...

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Try it, I tell you, try.

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Look, they scatter as soon as I do try.

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But they are watching you. I can see their eyes glitter. They are creeping back.

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Can I stand those rats crawling across me? Can the flesh bear it?

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A little has leaped on the wooden framework. Another follows.

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They are gnawing at the bandage.

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Seven, eight more sweeps of the pendulum.

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Does the bandage give way?

22:38.000 --> 22:39.000
A little.

22:39.000 --> 22:41.000
Lie still, John, lie still.

22:41.000 --> 22:46.000
Ten, a dozen rats gnaw. Is death, I wonder, worse than this disgust?

22:46.000 --> 22:49.000
A dozen sharp knives would do no better.

22:49.000 --> 22:57.000
The bandage is loosened to ribbons. If you move sideways, carefully, and drop to the floor.

22:57.000 --> 23:00.000
Fearless, I can't. I haven't the strength.

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The steel has frayed. You roll the minute more. It will be too late. Try.

23:02.000 --> 23:09.000
Then, and with all the good powers that is in me, and the hatred that I bear my enemies...

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Fear!

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A second time.

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See, John, the pendulum stopped. They are drawing it back up through the roof.

23:36.000 --> 23:39.000
Each move I make is watched. You never doubted that.

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No. Yet with all they could do to you, they have failed twice.

23:44.000 --> 23:48.000
They will not fail a third time, my dear. There must be no more dallying with the king of terrors.

23:48.000 --> 23:50.000
What else can they do?

23:50.000 --> 23:54.000
I can't say. See how the rats gnaw and silence the bandage.

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To what food, I wonder, have they been accustomed in the pit?

23:57.000 --> 23:59.000
But you escaped the pit.

23:59.000 --> 24:04.000
I escaped it once. Listen.

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What do you hear?

24:05.000 --> 24:06.000
Roaning and grinding as of metal.

24:06.000 --> 24:08.000
It was only the cogwheels of the pendulum knife.

24:08.000 --> 24:09.000
I think not, Beatrice.

24:09.000 --> 24:10.000
Why not?

24:10.000 --> 24:15.000
It seemed to come from behind these iron-plated walls. It seemed to shake the dungeon as a mill-wheel might shake it.

24:15.000 --> 24:18.000
Stand up, my poor John. Get up off your knees.

24:18.000 --> 24:20.000
I can't, Beatrice. I can't anymore.

24:20.000 --> 24:26.000
The paintings on the wall of this dungeon, the skeletons and imps and devils, they seem different.

24:26.000 --> 24:33.000
They are different. The colors sharpened grow bright, the demon's eyes glare, the skeleton's hands outstretched.

24:33.000 --> 24:36.000
Don't you catch even yet the odor of the heated iron?

24:36.000 --> 24:38.000
Heated iron!

24:38.000 --> 24:41.000
I have been much humbled, but I won't have you seen in tears.

24:41.000 --> 24:43.000
I order you to go!

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John, in the name of Heaven!

24:45.000 --> 24:48.000
Yes, in the name of Heaven! Go!

24:59.000 --> 25:01.000
The suffocating heat pervades the prison.

25:01.000 --> 25:05.000
The deeper glow settles in the painted eyes that glare at me.

25:05.000 --> 25:08.000
I could draw no breath of air into my lungs.

25:08.000 --> 25:17.000
Against the loom of that fiery destruction, the thought of the pit and its coolness came like balm.

25:17.000 --> 25:20.000
I stagger to the edge of the pit. I look into it.

25:20.000 --> 25:24.000
The entangled walls and roof light it to its depths.

25:24.000 --> 25:31.000
Yet for one wild moment, even then, I refuse to believe the meaning of what I see.

25:31.000 --> 25:36.000
Does the pit please you, Captain Dalbray?

25:36.000 --> 25:38.000
You again!

25:38.000 --> 25:41.000
Do you find its contents pleasing?

25:41.000 --> 25:43.000
Not the pit! Most people guard anything but the pit!

25:43.000 --> 25:46.000
And how shall you avoid it? Look!

25:46.000 --> 25:49.000
This dungeon has changed its shape!

25:49.000 --> 25:55.000
That is true. The walls are closing in. It was formerly a square, and now it is.

25:55.000 --> 26:00.000
That means slowly towards the center. To force me into the pit?

26:00.000 --> 26:03.000
Of course! It will force you along with me!

26:03.000 --> 26:08.000
Then apparently you must be told, Captain Dalbray, that you are speaking only to your own sick fancy!

26:08.000 --> 26:10.000
No! We are not here at all!

26:10.000 --> 26:12.000
Farewell!

26:12.000 --> 26:21.000
And now, flatter and flatter, through the red-burning walls, with a swiftness that left me no time for thought, I shrank back.

26:21.000 --> 26:29.000
But as the closing walls pressed me resistlessly onward, at length for my sad and writhing body there was no longer an inch of foothold.

26:29.000 --> 26:36.000
These blinged worms! I tottered on the edge of the pit! I averted my eyes!

26:36.000 --> 26:44.000
There was a discordant hum of human voices! There was a loud blast! As of many trumpets!

26:49.000 --> 26:56.000
The fiery walls rushed back, and outspread charm caught my own as I fell, painting through the abyss.

26:56.000 --> 27:01.000
Through the arm of General Lassalle, the French army had entered Toledo.

27:01.000 --> 27:07.000
The Inquisition was in the hands of its enemies!

27:19.000 --> 27:21.000
Suspense!

27:21.000 --> 27:26.000
Produced, edited and directed by William Spear.

27:26.000 --> 27:31.000
Tonight you heard Mr. José Ferrer as star of The Pit and the Pendulum.

27:31.000 --> 27:40.000
First in a limited series of five Friday night performances at this hour, which will present radio's outstanding theatre of thrills, Suspense.

27:40.000 --> 27:47.000
Tonight's radio play was adapted by John Dixon Carr from the famous short story by Edgar Allan Poe.

27:47.000 --> 27:51.000
José Ferrer will soon be seen with Ingrid Bergman in Joan of Lorraine.

27:51.000 --> 28:00.000
Appearing tonight with Mr. Ferrer were Jeanette Nolan, John McIntyre, Elliot Lewis, Joseph Kearns, Eric Snowden and Paul McVeigh.

28:00.000 --> 28:07.000
Music for Suspense is under the direction of Lud Bluskin with original music composed by Lucian Morrowick.

28:07.000 --> 28:17.000
Next Friday same time we will again bring you Suspense!

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Music

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This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.

