Book · Frankenstein
Page 367 of 483
Author: Mary Shelley
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As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew
feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who
soothed me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported
me. The physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old
woman prepared them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in
the first, and the expression of brutality was strongly marked in
the visage of the second. Who could be interested in the fate of
a murderer but the hangman who would gain his fee?
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