The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein Read Online Free PDF Page B

streets of London. But can you see ghosts in mists?”
    I went over to Westbrook. “Your sister is happy with the new arrangement?”
    “She is overjoyed, Mr. Frankenstein. She has a thirst for knowledge.”
    “So be it.” I turned to Shelley. “I had never considered you to be a teacher, Bysshe.”
    “Every poet is a teacher. Daniel agrees with me in that matter. He worships the Lake poets. He can quote from memory ‘Tintern Abbey.’”
    “I know the last lines,” Westbrook murmured to me. “I have never forgotten them.”
    “When does Miss Westbrook begin her studies with you?” I asked Bysshe.
    “Tomorrow morning. She will be coming here early. I gave her a copy of Mrs. Barbauld’s Moral Tales to impress her father, but we will discard it. I would like her to read some Aesop to begin. He charms the fancy, and instructs the mind. There will be some hard words, too, which I will interpret.”
    “I will call for her at six tomorrow evening,” Daniel Westbrook said.
    “But that means you cannot come to the play.”
    “The play? What play?”
    “Melmoth the Wanderer . It is Cunningham’s latest. It opens tomorrow night. But wait. If you take her home in a cab, Daniel, you can meet us in front of the theatre.”
    “I am not accustomed to cabs,” Westbrook said.
    “Here.” Bysshe took from his pocket a sovereign. “You cannot miss the drama.”
    It was clear to me that Westbrook did not want to accept the coin; he was awkward and abashed. Bysshe understood this immediately, and regretted what had been an instinctive gesture. “Or would you rather enjoy the evening with your sister?”
    “I think so. Yes.” Westbrook returned the sovereign to Bysshe. “It is generous of you, sir, but I am not really used to generosity. My sister is more worthy of it.”
    “We are all unworthy,” Shelley said. “Of course you must come, Victor. We will sup full of horrors.”
    I agreed, and I took my leave soon after. I was dreadfully tired by the events of that night. Westbrook accompanied me to Berners Street since, as he said, I needed a native to guide me through Soho. I could hear the sound of revelry close by, and instinctively I shrank from it.
    “Are you a lover of London?” he asked me.
    “I scarcely know it. I am excited by it.”
    “In what way?”
    “By its energetic life. It is possible to feel here that you are part of the movement of the age. Part of a great enterprise. I come from a secluded region where such things are unknown.”
    “I heard you say that you came from Geneva.”
    “In a sense. Yes. But Geneva is a small city. I am really from the Alpine country, where we walk among the mountains. We are by nature solitary.”
    “I envy you very much.”
    “Do you? I have never considered it a state to be envied.”
    “It gives you power, Mr. Frankenstein. It gives you will.”
    I was surprised by this and stayed silent as we crossed the Oxford Road. “In Geneva, we have no gas lamps.”
    “These are a novelty. Yet it is surprising how quickly one grows accustomed to the glare. Do you see the intense shadows that it casts? Look how your shadow stretches across the wall! Here is your street.”
    “Which way do you go, Mr. Westbrook?”
    “East. Where else?” He laughed. “That is where my destiny lies. We will see each other soon. Goodnight to you.”
    I watched him walking briskly down the Oxford Road, and then I turned into Berners Street. I approached the door with some dread, all the more powerful for being indefinable, but then I quickly crossed the threshold and mounted the stairs. My chambers were dark, and I lit with a Lucifer match a small oil-lamp; in its sputtering wick the room seemed to change shape and size before settling to its customary dimensions. I sat down in an old-fashioned elbow chair, by the side of my bed, and sought to reflect upon the experiences of that night. I was aware that I had been brushed by some power, but I did not know how I was supposed to consider