"Bram Stoker - Dracula" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stoker Bram)

was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you.
There is really nothing to interest you.

Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a great deal
to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park.
As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one
who was with me at the last Pop. Someone has evidently
been telling tales.

That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and Mamma get
on very well together, they have so many things to talk about in common.

We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you
were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellant parti,
being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor
and really clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty,
and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care.
Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to see us,
and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men I
ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable.
I can fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients.
He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face,
as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much
with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack.
I know that from my glass.

Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell
you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you
can well fancy if you have never tried it.

He say that I afford him a curious psychological study,
and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient
interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions.
Dress is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind.
Arthur says that every day.

There, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other
since we were children. We have slept together and eaten together,
and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have spoken,
I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him.
I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me,
he has not told me so in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him.
I love him! There, that does me good.

I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing,
as we used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I feel.
I do not know how I am writing this even to you.
I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter,
and I don't want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all.
Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think