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FRANKENSTEIN; OR,
CHAPTER VIII.
"Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants, and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery.
"When night came, I quitted my retreat, and wandered in the wood; and now, no longer restrained by the
