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I do not remember what day it is.

Fever. It's the last thing I'd want to catch in that world and infect Winston and the others. It irritates, binds my body and reduces the world to the limits of my bedroom.

Woke up at night. I need to take some sleeping pills.

I heard something in that delirium. Chills and pyrexia. Hell, even if I am going to die, I still have to get the papers in order somehow. I cannot let the discovery of that world die with me.

Flashes of lightning lit up the blanket and the shadows of the trees fell on it. Strange effect. For a second they seemed square and reminiscent of some buildings or ruins.

Ruins. I reached for a sleeping pill at my table and fell into a heavy sleep, like oblivion.

Next morning.

Woke up with a nasty taste on my tongue. It beckons me, I'm worried as if I were a boy who believed the stories of old women and got into a cemetery to conduct "magic" ritual.

I think I'm getting better.

Sir William Conway's Diary, 1966