here below.

All Clubin's pent-up wickedness found full vent now.

He gazed into the vast surrounding darkness, and indulged in a low,
irrepressible laugh, full of sinister significance.

He was rich at last! rich at last!

The unknown future of his life was at length unfolding; the problem was
solved.

Clubin had plenty of time before him. The sea was rising, and
consequently sustained the Durande, and even raised her at last a
little. The vessel kept firmly in its place among the rocks; there was
no danger of her foundering. Besides, he determined to give the
long-boat time to get clear off--to go to the bottom, perhaps. Clubin
hoped it might.

Erect upon the deck of the shipwrecked vessel, he folded his arms,
apparently enjoying that forlorn situation in the dark night.

Hypocrisy had weighed upon this man for thirty years. He had been evil
itself, yoked with probity for a mate. He detested virtue with the
feeling of one who has been trapped into a hateful match. He had always
had a wicked premeditation; from the time when he attained manhood he
had worn the cold and rigid armour of appearances. Underneath this was
the demon of self. He had lived like a bandit in the disguise of an
honest citizen. He had been the soft-spoken pirate; the bond-slave of
honesty. He had been confined in garments of innocence, as in oppressive
mummy cloths; had worn those angel wings which the devils find so
wearisome in their fallen state. He had been overloaded with public
esteem. It is arduous passing for a shining light. To preserve a
perpetual equilibrium amid these difficulties, to think evil, to speak
goodness--here had been indeed a labour. Such a life of contradictions
had been Clubin's fate. It had been his lot--not the less onerous
because he had chosen it himself--to preserve a good exterior, to be
always presentable, to foam in secret, to smile while grinding his
teeth. Virtue presented itself to his mind as something stifling. He had
felt, sometimes, as if he could have gnawed those finger-ends which he
was compelled to keep before his mouth.

To live a life which is a perpetual falsehood is to suffer unknown
tortures. To be premeditating indefinitely a diabolical act, to have to
assume austerity; to brood over secret infamy seasoned with outward good
fame; to have continually to put the world off the scent; to present a
perpetual illusion, and never to be one's self--is a burdensome task. To
be constrained to dip