Diary of a Drug Fiend

210 The Diary of a Drug Fiend always will be. How was it that she could speak of another woman who loved him without jealousy, and, as things were, without envy? It was true, perhaps, after all, that he had some huge hypnotic power, and held them helpless, filed away like so many letters. But Maisie was bubbling over with energy and joy; it was absurd to think of her as vampirised, as a victim. I asked her about it point-blank. “‘ My dear Lou,” she laughed, ‘‘ don’t be too utterly gaga! My Will is to sing, and Lala’s is to help him in his work—why should we clash? Why should there be any ill-feeling? She’s helping me by helping him to help me; and I’m helping her by showing that his Law has helped me, and can help others. We're the best friendsin the world, I and Lala; how could any- thing else be possible ? ”’ Well, of course, she was herself doing a notoriously impossible feat. The point of view of Basil and his crowd is simply upside down to all ordinary people. At the same time, one can’t deny that the result is amazingly invigorating to contemplate. I could quite understand his idea of developing mankind into what is practically a new species, with new faculties, and the old fears, superstitions, and follies discarded for ever. I couldn’t stand it another second. Maisie had given him—and herself—up, and yet she possessed both herself and him: I had clung to him and to myself,. and I had lost both—Lost, lost for ever! I got up to go home; and before I reached the street I realised with desolate disgust. and despair the degree of my degradation, of my damnation ; and I hugged desper- ately my hideous perverse pride in my own frightful fate, and rejoiced as the horrible hunger for heroin made itself known once more, gnawing at my entrails. I licked my lips at the thought that I was on my way to the man whom my love had done so much to destroy— and myself with him. To begin with, no more of this diary—why should