Read it through once

I felt that I must unburden myself. The sound increased. I could bear it no longer. "It is the beating of his heart!" I cried. "It is the beating of his heart!" They looked at me with that profound bewilderment which I had so often seen upon their faces. I fancied that I saw them whisper among themselves. They were talking of me as of a man who had been waiting long in vain for the comfort of confession. "Alas!" said one, "his mind is diseased." I laughed; and then, in the excess of my agitation, I rose and told them the whole story — how I had watched him, how I had planned, how I had executed the deed, and where I had hidden the body beneath the floor — and I confessed everything.