“Do you remember how interested we used to be in hypnotism, David?”
“Yes, that’s partly what made me think of it.”
“We read everything we could lay hands on—all the books on psychic phenomena—Charcot’s experiments—everything. And do you remember the conclusion we came to?”
“What was it?”
“I don’t think you’ve forgotten. I can remember you stamping up and down my little room and saying, ‘It’s a damnable thing, Elizabeth, a perfectly damnable thing. There’s no end, absolutely none to the extent to which it undermines everything—I believe it is a much more real devil than any that the theologies produce.’ That’s what you said nine years ago, David, and I agreed with you. We used quite a lot of strong language between us, and I don’t feel called upon to retract any of it. Hypnotism is a damnable thing.”
David pushed the cap back from his eyes as Elizabeth spoke, and raised himself on his elbow, so that he could see her face.
“There are degrees,” he said, “and it’s very hard to define. How would you define it?”
“It’s not easy. ‘The unlawful influence of one mind over another’?”
“That’s begging the question. At what point does it become unlawful?—that’s the crux.”
“I suppose at the point when force of will overbears sense—reason—conscience. You may persuade a man to lend you money, but you mayn’t pick his pocket or hypnotise him.”