Oscar Berg had been one of my boon companions in

boyhood; but many years had elapsed since our last meeting.

A letter, however, had lately reached me from Queens, New

York — a letter from him — which, in its wildly importunate

nature, had admitted of no other than a personal reply.

The MS. gave evidence of nervous agitation. Oscar spoke of

acute bodily illness —of a mental disorder which oppressed him —

and of an earnest desire to see me, as his

best and indeed his only personal friend, with a view

of attempting, by my cheerfulness, some alleviation of his malady.

_____________________________________________________

Paraphrases from the short story The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe.

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