Hillingham, August 24. I must imitate Mina, and writing things in a book. So when we we can have long talks. I wonder when it will be. I wish she were with me again because I feel so unhappy. Last night I thought I was dreaming again as in Whitby. Maybe it's climate change or the fact that I'm home again. It is all dark and horrid to me, because I can not remember anything, but I am full of vague fear, and I feel weak and exhausted. When Arthur came to lunch he looked quite grieved when he saw me, and I had not the courage to try to be cheerful. I wonder if I could sleep tonight in the mother's room. Make an excuse to try ...
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