The rumble of thunder grew louder.
(Voices?)
(Here? Harker thought.)
I have given myself voluntarily into the hands of death, he announced silently. Of my own free will did I consent to have the sanctity of my body violated and the free passage of air through my nostrils interfered with. And with the stoppage of the heart came death.
Frowning, he tried to remember more. Recollection grew dim, though, as if he were glimpsing the world he had left behind through a series of warped mirrors. He could see faintly into the world of living people, but the surface was oddly glazed, unreal.
Again came thunder, louder, closer.
Someone said, "I think he's waking up."
Harker remained perfectly still, struggling to penetrate the meaning of those words. I think he's waking up.
Waking up? From death?
"He's definitely coming out of it."