cherry-jam. He politely disposed of them before replying.
"But they're both me," he said. "Of course we have all two existences."
"Dual personality?" she asked.
"Dual fiddlesticks. What I mean is that in everybody there is the conscious self and the subconscious self, but they do not make a dual personality, but one personality. Most people—you, for instance, or Harry, or my mother—transact everything through the conscious personality. For all practical purposes your subconscious self doesn't exist. But in some, and I'm one of them—the subconscious self is accessible. I can reach it if I want. I can make it act. It is the essential life which we all of us contain, and, as such, it is that part of ourselves with which the essential life of those who have quitted this unessential life can communicate. Martin doesn't communicate with that part of me which directs and controls my conversation with you. He speaks to my subconscious self, and, by some rather unusual arrangement, my subconscious life can speak to my conscious life and convey what he says to my hand, or, as once happened, when at Grives I heard him call me, to my ear. I am a medium in fact, though that would usually suggest something charlatanish. I can bring my subconscious life to the surface; sometimes, as when Martin speaks to it, it comes to the surface of its own accord, with strong compulsion over my conscious self."
He paused a moment.
"It's all very odd," he said. "Until this afternoon, my subconscious self had lain quite quiet for years. Now suddenly it asserts itself and produces that page of writing, because Martin talked to it, and told it to make my hand write. What other explanation is there, unless indeed you imagine that I have merely perpetrated a silly hoax? But I swear to you that
