I have examined maps of the city with the greatest care, yet have never again found the Rue d’Auseil.Narrator
He was a small, lean, bent person, with shabby clothes, blue eyes, grotesque, satyr-like face, and nearly bald head.Narrator
His playing grew fantastic, delirious, and hysterical, yet kept to the last the qualities of supreme genius which I knew this strange old man possessed.Narrator
I wondered at the vast conceit of those who had babbled of the malign, inhuman side of music.Narrator
I myself seemed floating in the ether, alien, remote, and exiled.Narrator
I saw a spectral hordes in torment; a wild bacchanal of ethereal monsters writhing in chaos.Narrator
Though he always welcomed me with civility, he never freely discussed his affairs or asked for the help one might expect from a fellow-lodger.Narrator
The hours that I could spend in Zann’s room were not very many, since his playing was never to be heard during the day; only in the night-watch could I hear the faint echoes.Narrator
These haunting notes were not from any known melody of man; they were far too alien and ethereal.Narrator
Though I saw and heard these things, I could not easily shake off the impression that they were not real. It was as if the fevered, frantic play of the mad viol-player had communicated to the very structure of reality a tinge of teething daemoniac absurdity.Narrator