His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his flies, and to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must clear out some of them, at all events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the same time as before for reduction. He disgusted me much while with him, for when a horrid blow-fly, bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, he caught it, held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb, and, before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and ate it. I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very good and very wholesome; that it was life, strong life, and gave life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must watch how he gets rid of his spiders. He has evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a little note-book in which he is always jotting down something. Whole pages of it are filled with masses of figures, generally single numbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches again, as though he were “focussing” some account, as the auditors put it.
How Dracula managed to enthrall Renfield is one of the mysteries in the novel. But why Renfield? It had to have been obvious that Renfield was psychologically disturbed. Even if he was only contacted for information purposes, there was nothing coherent he would get out of the deluded man. Unless, he possessed Renfield. Seward doesn't seem to keep that close an eye on this patient unless he wants to make a note of his latest funny habits. He isn't even disturbed that Renfield's temperament has slightly changed, that he is interested in taking life and is convinced it gives him special longevity. But perhaps it is good that Seward was oblivious. I'm sure Dracula would have targeted him for early disposal.
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