"You know that it doesn't affect the ability to think. Tests have shown
that."
"Tests conducted by addicts themselves!"
"The fact that they can conduct the tests should be proof enough that
there's nothing wrong with their minds."
"But there _is_!" she shouted. "I can see it in you. Oh, I know that
you can still add and subtract, and you can draw lines under two
words which mean the same thing, but that isn't really thinking. Real
thinking means the ability to tackle real problems--hard problems that
you can't handle merely with paper and pencil. It means having the
incentive to use your brain for a long time at a stretch. And that's
what the drug has ruined. It has taken away all your incentive."
"I still go about my duties."
"Not as well as you used to, and even at that, only because they've
become a habit. Just as you talk to me, because I've become a habit. If
you'd let me give you the antidote--"
He chuckled at the absurdity of her suggestion. Once an addict had
been cured, he could not become addicted again. The antidote acted
to produce a permanent immunization against the effects of the drug.
It was the realization of this fact that made addicts fight so hard
against any attempt to cure them. And she thought that she could
convince him by argument!