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Autor: Mary Shelley

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I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from
all it loved and miserable in the separation. When it became
noon, and the sun rose higher, I lay down on the grass and was
overpowered by a deep sleep. I had been awake the whole of the
preceding night, my nerves were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by
watching and misery. The sleep into which I now sank refreshed
me; and when I awoke, I again felt as if I belonged to a race of
human beings like myself, and I began to reflect upon what had
passed with greater composure; yet still the words of the fiend
rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared like a dream,
yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.

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