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Author: Mary Shelley

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How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how
delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had
endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had
selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His
yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries
beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth
of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more
horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the
same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his
shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

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