Book · Frankenstein
Page 418 of 483
Author: Mary Shelley
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What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains
and darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me.
Sometimes, indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows
and pleasant vales with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and
found myself in a dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I
gained a clear conception of my miseries and situation and was
then released from my prison. For they had called me mad, and
during many months, as I understood, a solitary cell had been my
habitation.
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