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It was on a dreary night of November
that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils.
With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony,
I collected the instruments of life around me,
that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet.
It was already one in the morning;
the rain pattered dismally against the panes,
and my candle was nearly burnt out,
when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light,
I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open.
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