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His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had

suggested to me the duty of obeying the dying request of my

friend in destroying his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture

of curiosity and compassion. I approached this tremendous being;

I dared not again raise my eyes to his face, there was something

so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness. I attempted to speak,

but the words died away on my lips. The monster continued to

utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I gathered

resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his

passion.

"Your repentance," I said, "is now superfluous. If you had

listened to the voice of conscience and heeded the stings of

remorse before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this

extremity, Frankenstein would yet have lived."