ment, a great black shadow—the shadow of my own element of falseness.
I can not rid myself of it.
I am an innate liar.
This is a hard thing to write about. Of all things it is the most liable to be misunderstood. You will probably misunderstand it, for I have not succeeded in giving the right idea of it. I aimed at it and missed it. It eluded me completely.
You must take the idea as I have just now presented it for what it may be worth. This is as near as I can come to it. But it is something infinitely finer and rarer.
It is a difficult task to show to others a thing which, though I feel and recognize it thoroughly, I have not yet analyzed for myself.
But this is a complete Portrayal of me—as I await the Devil's coming—and I must tell everything—everything.
