the beginning of the story end in paragraph
During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the
autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low
in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a
singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as
the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy
House of Usher. I know not how it was—but, with the first glimpse
of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.
I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that
half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind
usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate
ending:
He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much of
the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to
a more natural and far more palpable origin—to the severe and
long-continued illness—indeed to the evidently approaching
dissolution—of a tenderly beloved sister—his sole companion for
long years, his last and only relative on earth. “Her decease,” he
said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, “would leave him
(him, the hopeless and the frail) the last of the ancient race of the
Ushers.” While he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so was she called)
passed slowly through a remote portion of the apartment, and,
without having noticed my presence, disappeared. I regarded her
with an utter astonishment not unmingled with dread; and yet I
found it impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stupor
oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When a
door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively and
eagerly the countenance of the brother; but he had buried his face in
his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary
wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers through which
trickled many passionate tears.
He admitted, however, although with