Rewrite this short story from a third-person perspective as if observing the narrator and his behaviour.

True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.


system
Rewrite this short story from a third-person perspective as if observing the narrator and his behaviour.

True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.


user
The young man was nervous. He fidgeted and twitched with anxiety, noticing every flicker of a shadow as it danced in the twilight. At the faintest sound, like a branch brushing against the roof, the young man's pulse quickened. He would cock his head like a dog trying to pinpoint the exact source of a creak in the floor. At night, he chased imagined noises. He was confident that he could hear voices above and below his bed, but he couldn't quite make out what they were discussing. Was it him?

It wasn't always like this. For years, the young man was kind and neighbourly towards the old man who lived next door. The old man had been equally kind in return and lived modestly in his humble home. The two men had no qualms, but the young man began to feel unnerved by the old man's eye. One of his eyes was pale blue and with a film over it. Every time the young man felt the unseeing eye fall upon him, his blood ran cold. Over time, the dreadful sensation overwhelmed the young man until he decided that it, and the old man, had to be killed. 

The young man knew that murder was wrong. He knew that the old man was not to blame for his horrible eye, and so was exceedingly kind to him. He did not wish to kill out of passion or madness but instead chose to methodically prepare for the eye's demise. For a week, the young man crept out of his bed at midnight, picked up his lantern and silently slipped into his neighbour's home. He stealthily made his way to the old man's bedroom and inch by inch pushed open the heavy door until he could fit his head inside the opening. Once able, he slowly slid open the sheath to his lantern until a beam of light struck the old man's eye. Night after night, the eye remained closed in sleep; and so the young man swiftly retreated from the room. After all, it was not the man he wanted to kill, but the evil eye. So every morning, the young man would greet the old man at his home with cheery warmth and faux concern about how the old man had slept. Not once did the old man suspect that his young neighbour was entering his bedroom midnight after midnight as the old man slept, awaiting the appearance of the terrible eye. 
assistant
<|system|>
</s>
<|user|>
Rewrite this short story from a third-person perspective as if observing the narrator and his behaviour.

True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

</s>
<|assistant|>
The young man was nervous. He fidgeted and twitched with anxiety, noticing every flicker of a shadow as it danced in the twilight. At the faintest sound, like a branch brushing against the roof, the young man's pulse quickened. He would cock his head like a dog trying to pinpoint the exact source of a creak in the floor. At night, he chased imagined noises. He was confident that he could hear voices above and below his bed, but he couldn't quite make out what they were discussing. Was it him?

It wasn't always like this. For years, the young man was kind and neighbourly towards the old man who lived next door. The old man had been equally kind in return and lived modestly in his humble home. The two men had no qualms, but the young man began to feel unnerved by the old man's eye. One of his eyes was pale blue and with a film over it. Every time the young man felt the unseeing eye fall upon him, his blood ran cold. Over time, the dreadful sensation overwhelmed the young man until he decided that it, and the old man, had to be killed. 

The young man knew that murder was wrong. He knew that the old man was not to blame for his horrible eye, and so was exceedingly kind to him. He did not wish to kill out of passion or madness but instead chose to methodically prepare for the eye's demise. For a week, the young man crept out of his bed at midnight, picked up his lantern and silently slipped into his neighbour's home. He stealthily made his way to the old man's bedroom and inch by inch pushed open the heavy door until he could fit his head inside the opening. Once able, he slowly slid open the sheath to his lantern until a beam of light struck the old man's eye. Night after night, the eye remained closed in sleep; and so the young man swiftly retreated from the room. After all, it was not the man he wanted to kill, but the evil eye. So every morning, the young man would greet the old man at his home with cheery warmth and faux concern about how the old man had slept. Not once did the old man suspect that his young neighbour was entering his bedroom midnight after midnight as the old man slept, awaiting the appearance of the terrible eye. </s>
