Oscar Berg, aged twenty-two and struggling to become a writer,

had saved but a very small sum of money from

the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient to

provide him with sustenance for some months, and in the

meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment at the

public library. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction; his

grief only became more deep and rankling when he had

leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast

hold of his mind that at the end of three

months he lay sick in bed, incapable of any exertion.

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Paraphrases from the novel Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

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