What is the author's purpose in writing the passage? A.
to explain a complex problem and propose an easy solution
B.
to generate excitement and stimulate the imagination
C.
to set the scene and provide some background information
D.
to describe a significant event and its likely consequences

Passage: excerpt adapted from The Fall of the House of Usher
by Edgar Allan Poe

During 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, where no sign of human activity presented itself. And at length, I found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. With the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I looked upon the scene before me—upon the house, and the simple landscape features of the domain, upon the bleak walls, upon the vacant eye-like windows, and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees—with an utter depression of soul. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart. What was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher? I could not grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered it. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene would be sufficient to modify its capacity for sorrowful impression. And, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the steep brink of a black and grim-looking lake that lay by the dwelling. I gazed down upon the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.
In this mansion of gloom I now proposed to myself a stay of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick Usher, had been one of my closest friends in boyhood. But many years had passed since our last meeting. A letter, however, had lately reached me in a distant part of the country. A letter from him, which, in its wildly insistent nature, had allowed no other than a personal reply. The handwriting gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer spoke of a kind of 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 the cheerfulness of my society, some relief from his malady.