Wednesday, February 4, 2009

The Fall of the Text of Usher _ [ part IV ]

Had fallen; and there appeared to be a sluggish, faintly discernible, and perfect adaptation of parts, and the seemed to be that of an excessive years in some neglected vault, with no vicinity—an atmosphere which had no there grew in my mind a strange fancy—a having terror as a basis. and it might scanned more narrowly the real aspect of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave have been for this reason only, that, eye of a scrutinising observer might have the building. its principal feature when I again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, mention it to show the vivid force of the web-work from the eaves. yet all this was antiquity. the discoloration of ages had tarn—a pestilent and mystic vapour, dull, fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I but trees, and the gray wall, and the silent apart from any extraordinary been great. minute fungi overspread the consciousness of the rapid increase of my spirit what must have been a dream, I affinity with the air of heaven, but old wood-work which has rotted for long became lost in the sullen waters of the discovered a barely perceptible fissure, wall in a zigzag direction, until it worked upon my imagination as really to external air. beyond this indication of I have said that the sole effect of my sensations which oppressed me. I had so to themselves and their immediate dilapidation. no portion of the masonry building in front, made its way down the which, extending from the roof of the there can be no doubt that the believe that about the whole mansion and tarn. increase itself. such, I have long known, it?—served mainly to accelerate the wild inconsistency between its still which had reeked up from the decayed little token of instability. perhaps the crumbling condition of the individual leaden-hued.

shaking off from my whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar stones. in this there was much that somewhat childish experiment—that of reminded me of the specious totality of looking down within the tarn—had been to disturbance from the breath of the superstition—for why should I not so term deepen the first singular impression. is the paradoxical law of all sentiments

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