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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 484 pages of information about Dracula.

Something seemed to affect his imagination, for he put his fingers to his ears and shut his eyes, screwing them up tightly just as a small boy does when his face is being soaped.  There was something pathetic in it that touched me.  It also gave me a lesson, for it seemed that before me was a child, only a child, though the features were worn, and the stubble on the jaws was white.  It was evident that he was undergoing some process of mental disturbance, and knowing how his past moods had interpreted things seemingly foreign to himself, I thought I would enter into his mind as well as I could and go with him.

The first step was to restore confidence, so I asked him, speaking pretty loud so that he would hear me through his closed ears, “Would you like some sugar to get your flies around again?”

He seemed to wake up all at once, and shook his head.  With a laugh he replied, “Not much!  Flies are poor things, after all!” After a pause he added, “But I don’t want their souls buzzing round me, all the same.”

“Or spiders?” I went on.

“Blow spiders!  What’s the use of spiders?  There isn’t anything in them to eat or . . .”  He stopped suddenly as though reminded of a forbidden topic.

“So, so!” I thought to myself, “this is the second time he has suddenly stopped at the word ‘drink’.  What does it mean?”

Renfield seemed himself aware of having made a lapse, for he hurried on, as though to distract my attention from it, “I don’t take any stock at all in such matters.  ‘Rats and mice and such small deer,’ as Shakespeare has it, ‘chicken feed of the larder’ they might be called.  I’m past all that sort of nonsense.  You might as well ask a man to eat molecules with a pair of chopsticks, as to try to interest me about the less carnivora, when I know of what is before me.”

“I see,” I said.  “You want big things that you can make your teeth meet in?  How would you like to breakfast on an elephant?”

“What ridiculous nonsense you are talking?” He was getting too wide awake, so I thought I would press him hard.

“I wonder,” I said reflectively, “what an elephant’s soul is like!”

The effect I desired was obtained, for he at once fell from his high-horse and became a child again.

“I don’t want an elephant’s soul, or any soul at all!” he said.  For a few moments he sat despondently.  Suddenly he jumped to his feet, with his eyes blazing and all the signs of intense cerebral excitement.  “To hell with you and your souls!” he shouted.  “Why do you plague me about souls?  Haven’t I got enough to worry, and pain, to distract me already, without thinking of souls?”

He looked so hostile that I thought he was in for another homicidal fit, so I blew my whistle.

The instant, however, that I did so he became calm, and said apologetically, “Forgive me, Doctor.  I forgot myself.  You do not need any help.  I am so worried in my mind that I am apt to be irritable.  If you only knew the problem I have to face, and that I am working out, you would pity, and tolerate, and pardon me.  Pray do not put me in a strait waistcoat.  I want to think and I cannot think freely when my body is confined.  I am sure you will understand!”

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