The date is uncertain. My last few days have passed in a haze, and I have not dared to venture out. I am in such pain; such turmoil and I know that I am becoming worse. My voices have deserted me, they are silent, and I am alone, though perhaps not quite. Cavendish at last came to see me. He was much affected by my appearance and demeanour, and was I think quite sympathetic toward me though he exhibited such horror at his belief in my pronunciations at last. He knows the truth now, and I am sure he will not turn against me, the fruit of his loins. Ha! He has advised that I stay within the walls of my home and has promised to visit each day and to care for my ills and ailments. He has prescribed for me, and the effects of the drug are quite debilitating. I can scarce move from my chair but
