Chapter Twenty-four

He felt like a silhouette against a setting sun: the contrast of pride he longed to manifest seared by the vanity; he tried to efface the solicitous nature of this self-indulgent portrait. This notion of his philosophical labor unlimited, cast in the pall of others' torrid misconceptions, granted him precious exemption. To him, this was not a paradox; to others it was not a crisis. The truth was: everyone liked him.