Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley Letter 1 TO Mrs. Saville, England St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17— You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.
I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken in my bosom.
There are no more uses of "foreboding" in the book.
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All that week I had a steadily escalating sense of foreboding.
Seeing a black cat always gives my grandmother a sense of foreboding.