Then the unfortunate Karl Heinz was beset with other troubles.
May 2.--I fear I am becoming ill. To-day Joseph Kleist, who is next
to me in the trench, asked me why I jerked my head to the right so
constantly. I told him to hold his tongue; but this shows that I am
noticed. I keep fancying that there is something white just beyond
the range of my sight on the right hand.
May 3.--This whiteness is now quite clear, and in front of me. All
this day it has slowly passed before me. I asked Joseph Kleist if he
saw a piece of newspaper just beyond the trench. He stared at me
solemnly--he is a stupid fool--and said, "There is no paper."
May 4.--It looks like a white robe. There was a strong smell of
incense to-day in the trench. No one seemed to notice it. There is
decidedly a white robe, and I think I can see feet, passing very
slowly before me at this moment while I write.
There is no space here for continuous extracts from Karl Heinz's diary.
But to condense with severity, it would seem that he slowly gathered
about himself a complete set of sensory hallucinations.
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