This secret practice was always accompanied by an arrogant mental idea⁠—the idea, namely, that he was taking part in some occult cosmic struggle⁠—some struggle between what he liked to think of as “good” and what he liked to think of as “evil” in those remote depths.

How it came about that the mere indulgence in a sensation that was as thrilling as a secret vice should have the power of rousing so bold an arrogance, Wolf himself was never able to explain; for his “mythology,” as he called it, had no outlet in any sort of action. It was limited entirely to a secret sensation in his own mind, such as he would have been hard put to it to explain in intelligible words to any living person.

But such as it was, his profoundest personal pride⁠—what might be called his dominant life-illusion ⁠—depended entirely upon it.