I moved.
Never shall I forget the supreme ecstasy of that moment.
Again I felt alive.
I tried to call out, but my throat was too dry, and I only succeeded in making a low, husky sound.
Then I thought, supposing, that instead of following my instructions, thinking me mad when I wrote the letter, they had made the coffin of thick wood.
In that case my chances of breaking through were small and I should die in it of starvation.
They had evidently carried out my wishes in respect to boring the holes, as I found no difficulty in breathing, and though the air was heavy with the pestilential odour arising from those bodies from which the coffins had rotted away, I thought I had never inhaled any so delicious.
After a time I moved again, with a little more control over my limbs.
Raising my hands I felt the boards above me and tore the waxed paper, with which the coffin was lined, from my face.
Each time I moved I gained more control over my muscles.
Perspiration oozed from the pores of my skin.
My voice returned to me.
