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Автор: Mary Shelley

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But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the
unbounded and unremitting attentions of my friend could have
restored me to life. The form of the monster on whom I had
bestowed existence was for ever before my eyes, and I raved
incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my words surprised Henry;
he at first believed them to be the wanderings of my disturbed
imagination, but the pertinacity with which I continually
recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder
indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.

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