Lingue

Tastiera

Pagina 78 di 483

Autore: Mary Shelley

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"Do not ask me," cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I
thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; "he can
tell. Oh, save me! Save me!" I imagined that the monster seized
me; I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.
Poor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which
he anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness.
But I was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and
did not recover my senses for a long, long time.

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