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Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued

           Myonlydoubtwasastowhetheranydreamcouldbemoreterriblethantheunnatural,horriblenetofgloomandmysterywhichseemedclosingaroundme. 

           Later. Iendorsethelastwordswritten,butthistimethereisnodoubtinquestion. Ishallnotfeartosleepinanyplacewhereheisnot. Ihaveplacedthecrucifixovertheheadofmybed,Iimaginethatmyrestisthusfreerfromdreams,andthereitshallremain. 

           WhenheleftmeIwenttomyroom.Afteralittlewhile,nothearinganysound,IcameoutandwentupthestonestairtowhereIcouldlookouttowardstheSouth. Therewassomesenseoffreedominthevastexpanse,inaccessiblethoughitwastome,ascomparedwiththenarrowdarknessofthecourtyard. Lookingoutonthis,IfeltthatIwasindeedinprison,andIseemedtowantabreathoffreshair,thoughitwereofthenight. Iambeginningtofeelthisnocturnalexistencetellonme.Itisdestroyingmynerve. Istartatmyownshadow,andamfullofallsortsofhorribleimaginings. Godknowsthatthereisgroundformyterriblefearinthisaccursedplace! Ilookedoutoverthebeautifulexpanse,bathedinsoftyellowmoonlighttillitwasalmostaslightasday. Inthesoftlightthedistanthillsbecamemelted,andtheshadowsinthevalleysandgorgesofvelvetyblackness. Themerebeautyseemedtocheerme. TherewaspeaceandcomfortineverybreathIdrew. AsIleanedfromthewindowmyeyewascaughtbysomethingmovingastoreybelowme,andsomewhattomyleft,whereIimagined,fromtheorderoftherooms,thatthewindowsoftheCount’sownroomwouldlookout. ThewindowatwhichIstoodwastallanddeep,stone-mullioned,andthoughweatherworn,wasstillcomplete. 

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