A servant took my horse, and I passed through intricate passages to the studio of my host. The windows were long, narrow and pointed, and at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be inaccessible from within. Roderick Usher rose from a sofa and greeted me with a vivacious warmth which had, I thought, something of the overdone courtesy of the ennuyé man of the world. A glance at his face convinced me of his perfect sincerity. I could scarcely believe this wan being to be the companion of my early boyhood. The cadaverousness of his complexion, the miraculous lustre of his eye, the hair of a more than web-like softness grown all unheeded about his face, made an expression I could not connect with any idea of simple humanity.