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Autor: Mary Shelley

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After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into
the room where the corpse of my beloved lay. There were women
weeping around; I hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs;
all this time no distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but
my thoughts rambled to various subjects, reflecting confusedly on
my misfortunes and their cause. I was bewildered, in a cloud of
wonder and horror. The death of William, the execution of
Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly of my wife; even at
that moment I knew not that my only remaining friends were safe
from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now might be
writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his feet.
This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action. I started up
and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.

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