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Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, 1797-1851

"Frankenstein"

The murderous mark of
the fiend's grasp was on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue
from her lips. While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I
happened to look up. The windows of the room had before been darkened,
and I felt a kind of panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon
illuminate the chamber. The shutters had been thrown back, and with a
sensation of horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a
figure the most hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the face of the
monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his fiendish finger he pointed
towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards the window, and
drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me, leaped from
his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning, plunged into
the lake.
The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to
the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with
boats; nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we
returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a
form conjured up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to
search the country, parties going in different directions among the
woods and vines.
I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the
house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken
man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my
eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever.


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