From her throat trickled a thin stream of blood.

Her eyes were mad with terror.

Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count's terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief.

Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room.
Van Helsing whispered to me, "Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce.

We can do nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers herself.