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THE DAMNED TILING
Ambrose Bierce
I
ONE DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT
WHAT IS ON THE TABLE
By the light of a tallow candle, which had been placed on one
end of a rough table, a man was reading something written in a
book. It was an old account book, greatly worn; and the writing
was not, apparently, very legible, for the man sometimes held
the page close to the flame of the candle to get a stronger light
upon it. The shadow of the book would then throw into obscu-
rity a half of the room, darkening a number of faces and figures;
for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven of
them sat against the rough log walls, silent and motionless, and,
the room being small, not very far from the table. By extending
an arm any one of them could have touched the eighth man,
who lay on the table, face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his
arms at his sides. He was dead.
The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one
spoke; all seemed to be waiting for something to occur; the
dead man only was without expectation. From the blank dark-
ness outside came in, through the aperture that served for a
window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilder:​

Answer 1

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espero que te sirva le tome captura a la traducción