Дракула

Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued

           Louderitseemedtoringinmyears,andthefloatingmoatsofdusttotakenewshapestothesoundastheydancedinthemoonlight. Ifeltmyselfstrugglingtoawaketosomecallofmyinstincts. Nay,myverysoulwasstruggling,andmyhalf-rememberedsensibilitieswerestrivingtoanswerthecall. Iwasbecominghypnotised! 

           Quickerandquickerdancedthedust. Themoonbeamsseemedtoquiverastheywentbymeintothemassofgloombeyond. Moreandmoretheygatheredtilltheyseemedtotakedimphantomshapes. AndthenIstarted,broadawakeandinfullpossessionofmysenses,andranscreamingfromtheplace. 

           Thephantomshapes,whichwerebecominggraduallymaterialisedfromthemoonbeams,werethosethreeghostlywomentowhomIwasdoomed. 

           Ifled,andfeltsomewhatsaferinmyownroom,wheretherewasnomoonlight,andwherethelampwasburningbrightly. 

           WhenacoupleofhourshadpassedIheardsomethingstirringintheCount’sroom,somethinglikeasharpwailquicklysuppressed. Andthentherewassilence,deep,awfulsilence,whichchilledme. Withabeatingheart,Itriedthedoor,butIwaslockedinmyprison,andcoulddonothing. Isatdownandsimplycried. 

           AsIsatIheardasoundinthecourtyardwithout,theagonisedcryofawoman. Irushedtothewindow,andthrowingitup,peeredbetweenthebars. 

           There,indeed,wasawomanwithdishevelledhair,holdingherhandsoverherheartasonedistressedwithrunning.Shewasleaningagainstthecornerofthegateway. 

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