 Should I go home? Please do. The night he said I shot him, I can remember only glass. Glass? Cold as the touch, and through it, a disagreeable and peculiar voice. Did you recognize the voice? That woman over there. Continue. I put my hand against this glass, and it opened, and I saw Mr. Crittenden leaning close to a woman and kissing her, and I felt myself slipped into an awful pit of blackness.