The Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Volume 2


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an air of exhaustion in the countenance of my friend, that he had  
not retired to bed during the whole of the preceding night. In the  
architecture and embellishments of the chamber, the evident design  
had been to dazzle and astound. Little attention had been paid to the  
decora of what is technically called keeping, or to the proprieties  
of nationality. The eye wandered from object to object, and rested upon  
none--neither the grotesques of the Greek painters, nor the sculptures  
of the best Italian days, nor the huge carvings of untutored Egypt. Rich  
draperies in every part of the room trembled to the vibration of low,  
melancholy music, whose origin was not to be discovered. The senses were  
oppressed by mingled and conflicting perfumes, reeking up from strange  
convolute censers, together with multitudinous flaring and flickering  
tongues of emerald and violet fire. The rays of the newly risen sun  
poured in upon the whole, through windows, formed each of a single pane  
of crimson-tinted glass. Glancing to and fro, in a thousand reflections,  
from curtains which rolled from their cornices like cataracts of molten  
silver, the beams of natural glory mingled at length fitfully with the  
artificial light, and lay weltering in subdued masses upon a carpet of  
rich, liquid-looking cloth of Chili gold.  
"
Ha! ha! ha!--ha! ha! ha! "--laughed the proprietor, motioning me to  
a seat as I entered the room, and throwing himself back at full-length  
upon an ottoman. "I see," said he, perceiving that I could not  
immediately reconcile myself to the bienseance of so singular a  
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