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Jonathan Harker’s Journal Continued

           AsIwentthroughthepassagethesmellgrewcloserandheavier. AtlastIpulledopenaheavydoorwhichstoodajar,andfoundmyselfinanoldruinedchapel,whichhadevidentlybeenusedasagraveyard. Theroofwasbroken,andintwoplaceswerestepsleadingtovaults,butthegroundhadrecentlybeendugover,andtheearthplacedingreatwoodenboxes,manifestlythosewhichhadbeenbroughtbytheSlovaks. 

           Therewasnobodyabout,andImadeasearchovereveryinchoftheground,soasnottoloseachance. Iwentdownevenintothevaults,wherethedimlightstruggled,althoughtodosowasadreadtomyverysoul. IntotwooftheseIwent,butsawnothingexceptfragmentsofoldcoffinsandpilesofdust. Inthethird,however,Imadeadiscovery. 

           There,inoneofthegreatboxes,ofwhichtherewerefiftyinall,onapileofnewlydugearth,laytheCount! Hewaseitherdeadorasleep. Icouldnotsaywhich,foreyeswereopenandstony,butwithouttheglassinessofdeath,andthecheekshadthewarmthoflifethroughalltheirpallor. Thelipswereasredasever. Buttherewasnosignofmovement,nopulse,nobreath,nobeatingoftheheart. 

           Ibentoverhim,andtriedtofindanysignoflife,butinvain. Hecouldnothavelaintherelong,fortheearthysmellwouldhavepassedawayinafewhours. Bythesideoftheboxwasitscover,piercedwithholeshereandthere. Ithoughthemighthavethekeysonhim,butwhenIwenttosearchIsawthedeadeyes,andinthemdeadthoughtheywere,suchalookofhate,thoughunconsciousofmeormypresence,thatIfledfromtheplace,andleavingtheCount’sroombythewindow,crawledagainupthecastlewall. Regainingmyroom,Ithrewmyselfpantinguponthebedandtriedtothink. 

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