Jonathan Harker’s Journal

           3-4October,closetomidnight. Ithoughtyesterdaywouldneverend. Therewasovermeayearningforsleep,insomesortofblindbeliefthattowakewouldbetofindthingschanged,andthatanychangemustnowbeforthebetter. Beforeweparted,wediscussedwhatournextstepwastobe,butwecouldarriveatnoresult. Allweknewwasthatoneearthboxremained,andthattheCountaloneknewwhereitwas. Ifhechoosestoliehidden,hemaybaffleusforyears. Andinthemeantime,thethoughtistoohorrible,Idarenotthinkofitevennow. ThisIknow,thatifevertherewasawomanwhowasallperfection,thatoneismypoorwrongeddarling. Ilovedherathousandtimesmoreforhersweetpityoflastnight,apitythatmademyownhateofthemonsterseemdespicable. SurelyGodwillnotpermittheworldtobethepoorerbythelossofsuchacreature. Thisishopetome. Wearealldriftingreefwardsnow,andfaithisouronlyanchor. ThankGod!Minaissleeping,andsleepingwithoutdreams. Ifearwhatherdreamsmightbelike,withsuchterriblememoriestogroundthemin. Shehasnotbeensocalm,withinmyseeing,sincethesunset. Then,forawhile,therecameoverherfaceareposewhichwaslikespringaftertheblastsofMarch. Ithoughtatthetimethatitwasthesoftnessoftheredsunsetonherface,butsomehownowIthinkithasadeepermeaning. Iamnotsleepymyself,thoughIamweary...wearytodeath. However,Imusttrytosleep.Forthereistomorrowtothinkof,andthereisnorestformeuntil... 

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