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