He no longer wrestled with his pain--strove against it.

There was even a sense of relief in permitting himself to be overcome.

But the reaction from this outburst was equally violent.

His revolt against the inevitable, his protest against the grave, shook him from head to foot, goaded him beyond all bounds of reason, hounded him on and into the domain of hysteria, dementia.

Vanamee was no longer master of himself--no longer knew what he was doing.
At first, he had been content with merely a wild, unreasoned cry to Heaven that Angele should be restored to him, but the vast egotism that seems to run through all forms of disordered intelligence gave his fancy another turn.