Книга · Frankenstein
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Автор: Mary Shelley
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We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent
danger of being crushed in their conflict. The cold is excessive,
and many of my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave
amidst this scene of desolation. Frankenstein has daily declined
in health; a feverish fire still glimmers in his eyes, but he is
exhausted, and when suddenly roused to any exertion, he speedily
sinks again into apparent lifelessness.
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