my mind, and to restore me to my lost tranquility; but the medicine had been fatal. And, unable to account for the excess of misery I appeared to suffer, he hastened to return home, hoping the quiet and monotony of a domestic life would by degrees alleviate my sufferings from whatsoever cause they might spring. For myself, I was passive in all their arrangements; and the gentle affection of my beloved Elizabeth was inadequate to draw me from the depth of my despair. The promise I had made to the demon weighed upon my mind, like Dante's iron cowl on the heads of the hellish hypocrites. All
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Different narrative of a singular Victor returning to Geneva to be welcomed home by his family in 1831

