(From the pocket journal of Edgar Willard)303Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkUTzyJMoNM
As I had feared, his health has broken----303Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8AOIhfvi0Q
Dear God, our Father Who art in Heaven!
Cannot bear to think of it; yet it is planted, burned on my brain like a tin-type; that horror in the cellar----!
Alone now; half past eight o’clock; house silent but----
Found him swooned over his writing table; he still sleeps, yet for those few moments how nobly he acquitted himself while I stood paralyzed and shattered!
His skin is waxy, cool. Not the fever again, God be thanked. I daren’t move him or leave him to go to the village. And if I did go, who would return with me to aid him? Who would come to this cursed house?303Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKm7k3nTO8H
O, the cellar! The things in the cellar that have haunted our walls!
ns18.116.230.250da2
