Do you not, with each word, each embrace, create a monster? Not only the child of your body who may destroy you with unkind words or unjust deeds, but do you not see the monster looking out at you from the eyes of every man you kiss? Do you not hear his roar in the words of contrition from every servant you upbraid? I curse Frankenstein not for creating me; I curse him for being a man, for men create things, and women beings. Were I of a woman created, no one could call me a thing.
The fear in the man's eyes was a sight familiar to me; yet, where others had fled with this fear, or attacked me with it, the black-skinned man did neither. He fell to his knees before me. "Oh, help me, help me", he cried, over and over. In the woods there appeared first a straw hat and a musket tip, and presently a man bearing both appeared from behind the briers. The black man turned; the fear was obviously directed at the newcomer. The latter unslung his musket and aimed at me. I looked back, unafraid. Having been wounded before, with less reason, the musket-ball tearing my flesh held no terror for me.