The crow was looking for news of the dead at midnight-oh no, it was the smell and cry of the dead body.
Silence for a talkative critic of stage play! He is not innocent when it comes to his death.
A silent tribute to a murderer who killed a critic of the stage play-no one can escape death.
May he find a maid with a tattoo as soon as possible, peek at the scribe who fell from the stepmother's chest...
hang the pendulum and cut the dwarf's abdomen, and may he spew a red map when he died.
On a morning when thick fog rose, the mayor’s fancy dress ball began. At the fancy dress party,
everyone has the opportunity to dance and kiss, until night falls, and the knock on the door does not sound.
Who can really care about their destiny? Who is the next dead person?
Allan Poe didn't want to kill under the oil lamp. His readers are maids, scribes, and the mayor's wife.
The crow was looking for the dead man’s pipe at midnight—not John, Alice, Luke, and Bradan.
Not anyone.
It's yourself.
View more about The Raven reviews
