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Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued

           17June. Thismorning,asIwassittingontheedgeofmybedcudgellingmybrains,Iheardwithoutacracklingofwhipsandpoundingandscrapingofhorses’feetuptherockypathbeyondthecourtyard. WithjoyIhurriedtothewindow,andsawdriveintotheyardtwogreatleiter-wagons,eachdrawnbyeightsturdyhorses, andattheheadofeachpairaSlovak,withhiswidehat,greatnail-studdedbelt,dirtysheepskin,andhighboots. Theyhadalsotheirlongstavesinhand. Irantothedoor,intendingtodescendandtryandjointhemthroughthemainhall,asIthoughtthatwaymightbeopenedforthem. Againashock,mydoorwasfastenedontheoutside. 

           ThenIrantothewindowandcriedtothem. Theylookedupatmestupidlyandpointed,butjustthenthe"hetman"oftheSzganycameout,andseeingthempointingtomywindow,saidsomething,atwhichtheylaughed. 

           Henceforthnoeffortofmine,nopiteouscryoragonizedentreaty,wouldmakethemevenlookatme. Theyresolutelyturnedaway. Theleiter-wagonscontainedgreat,squareboxes,withhandlesofthickrope. ThesewereevidentlyemptybytheeasewithwhichtheSlovakshandledthem,andbytheirresonanceastheywereroughlymoved. 

           Whentheywereallunloadedandpackedinagreatheapinonecorneroftheyard,theSlovaksweregivensomemoneybytheSzgany,andspittingonitforluck,lazilywenteachtohishorse’shead. Shortlyafterwards,Iheardthecracklingoftheirwhipsdieawayinthedistance. 

           24June. LastnighttheCountleftmeearly,andlockedhimselfintohisownroom. AssoonasIdaredIranupthewindingstair,andlookedoutofthewindow,whichopenedSouth. IthoughtIwouldwatchfortheCount,forthereissomethinggoingon. 

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