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Excerpt:
JULY 30, 1873
My preparations are complete. My creature lies fully assembled in the bath that has prevented decomposition during the months of finding the right parts and surgically joining them. It remains only to engage one switch--to unleash upon his still form and through his tissues that terrible surge of electrical power--to bring him to life. So great is this triumph that I am determined to make the final gesture at the stroke of midnight. There is a symbolism I will not relinquish, no matter how great my impatience, now that the moment is at hand.
The wait will allow
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Produktbeschreibung
Excerpt:

JULY 30, 1873

My preparations are complete. My creature lies fully assembled in the bath that has prevented decomposition during the months of finding the right parts and surgically joining them. It remains only to engage one switch--to unleash upon his still form and through his tissues that terrible surge of electrical power--to bring him to life. So great is this triumph that I am determined to make the final gesture at the stroke of midnight. There is a symbolism I will not relinquish, no matter how great my impatience, now that the moment is at hand.

The wait will allow me to begin this, my third journal. In these last hours before bringing my creature to life, I can commit to the first pages of this journal a brief summary of the events--and the purposes--which give it a reason for being undertaken.

First is my deformity--perhaps one of the worst a man could have. Ah, miserable defect! It is a tragic shortcoming, as it were. Yes, shortcoming would be an apt term for a stump of a penis not quite an inch in length when fully erect. I am doomed to go through life without the means for penetrating the natural haven provided for male gratification, thanks to brother Charles.

And throughout my childhood, I was subjected to the oft-repeated assurance of his gentleness and sweet selflessness. Ah, yes! I, Peter, owed so much to Charles--and to John! Being the youngest of the three Brent-Leigh sons, eleven years younger than John and eight younger than Charles, that I must have seemed an animated doll to them. Tales ad nauseum assailed my childish ears about their older brothers' devotion to me. Stories about their saving my life in a near-drowning incident in the pond, or from an attack by a maddened dog, or from near-suffocation in a hedgehog's den.