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He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We
threw ourselves against it. With a crash it burst open, and we almost
fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I
saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I
saw appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my
neck, and my heart seemed to stand still.
The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the
room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay
Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a
stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the
white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man,
clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we
all recognized the Count, in every way, even to the scar on his
forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker's hands,
keeping them away with her arms at full tension. His right hand
gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his
bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream
trickled down the man's bare chest which was shown by his torn-open
dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child
forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink.
As we burst into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish
look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes
flamed red with devilish passion. The great nostrils of the white
aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge, and the white
sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood dripping mouth, clamped
together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his
victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and
sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and
was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer.
The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the
tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we,
lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a
great black cloud sailed across the sky. And when the gaslight sprang
up under Quincey's match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, as
we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its
bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art,
and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her
breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so
despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till
my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and
disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated
by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin. From her
throat trickled a thin stream of blood. Her eyes were mad with
terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which
bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip, and
from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible
scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van
Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body,
whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran
out of the room.
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