Книга · Frankenstein
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Автор: Mary Shelley
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The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and
soul, in one pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did
the fields bestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a
more luxuriant vintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms
of nature. And the same feelings which made me neglect the scenes
around me caused me also to forget those friends who were so many
miles absent, and whom I had not seen for so long a time. I knew
my silence disquieted them, and I well remembered the words of my
father: "I know that while you are pleased with yourself you will
think of us with affection, and we shall hear regularly from you.
You must pardon me if I regard any interruption in your
correspondence as a proof that your other duties are equally
neglected."
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