Дракула

Jonathan Harker’s Journal

           Thewallswerefluffyandheavywithdust,andinthecornersweremassesofspider’swebs,whereonthedusthadgatheredtilltheylookedlikeoldtatteredragsastheweighthadtornthempartlydown. Onatableinthehallwasagreatbunchofkeys,withatime-yellowedlabeloneach. Theyhadbeenusedseveraltimes,foronthetablewereseveralsimilarrentsintheblanketofdust,similartothatexposedwhentheProfessorliftedthem. 

           Heturnedtomeandsaid, "Youknowthisplace,Jonathan. Youhavecopiedmapsofit,andyouknowitatleastmorethanwedo. Whichisthewaytothechapel?" 

           Ihadanideaofitsdirection,thoughonmyformervisitIhadnotbeenabletogetadmissiontoit,soIledtheway, andafterafewwrongturningsfoundmyselfoppositealow,archedoakendoor,ribbedwithironbands. 

           "Thisisthespot,"saidtheProfessorasheturnedhislamponasmallmapofthehouse,copiedfromthefileofmyoriginalcorrespondenceregardingthepurchase. Withalittletroublewefoundthekeyonthebunchandopenedthedoor. Wewerepreparedforsomeunpleasantness,foraswewereopeningthedoorafaint,malodorousairseemedtoexhalethroughthegaps,butnoneofuseverexpectedsuchanodourasweencountered. 

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