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But it had induced a sense of confusion, an uncertainty as to what had occurred and what had not occurred, what had been dream and what had not been dream. - (Witness of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #193)

Surely I should be heartfeltedly grateful for even so little! Surely it need not have been granted me. Had I not, in the pens, as it had seemed to me in my dreams, if dreams they were, often pleaded for so little as a thread of silk? What was I? What had I become? Something within me seemed to know. The drug had now worn off. But it had induced a sense of confusion, an uncertainty as to what had occurred and what had not occurred, what had been dream and what had not been dream. Had I dreamed the house, the pens, the chains, the wagon, the strange passage through cold, windy skies? Was I dreaming now? Was I delirious? Was I mad? Muchly had I been disoriented by the substance to which I had been subjected. Was I still, unwittingly, its victim? But it did not seem so. The stone, the close-set bars, the long, looming, tiered vistas beyond them, seemed very real. - (Witness of Gor)