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.
Paraphrases from the novel Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.