Dracula by Bram Stoker, read by Mike Bennett. Bannett.

Chapter 7.

Cutting from the Daily Graph

8th August, pasted in Meena Murray's journal, from a correspondent,

Whitby.

One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been experienced here, with results

both strange and unique. The weather had been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree

uncommon in the month of August.

Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known,

and the great body of holidaymakers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hoods Bay,

Rigg Mill, Rumswick, Staths and the various trips in the neighbourhood of Whitby.

The steamers, Emma and Scarborough, made trips up and down the coast and there was an

unusual amount of tripping both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the afternoon when some of the gossips who frequent the

East Cliff Churchyard and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a

sudden show of Mayor's tales high in the sky to the northwest. The wind was then blowing

from the southwest in the mild degree which in barometrical

language is ranked number two, light breeze. The Coast Guard on duty at once made report and one old fisherman who for more than half a century has kept watch on weather signs from the Eastcliff foretold in an emphatic manner the coming of a sudden storm.

The approach of sunset was so very beautiful,

so grand in its masses of splendidly coloured clouds that there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old churchyard to enjoy the beauty, before the sun dipped below the black mass of Kettle Ness, standing boldly as

wort the western sky, its downward wind was marked by myriad clouds of

every sunset color, flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold, with

here and there masses, not large but of seemingly absolute blackness in all sorts of shapes as well outlined as colossal

...