He could discern faintly that many creatures were there whose uncanny
noises, freighted with oaths and blasphemies, sent their sulphurous
fumes around. Although Mr. World was accustomed to foul scenes and
profanity, yet he was sickened at this deeper touch of Hell.
"Where am I and how came I here?" he cried out excitedly. A woman came
quickly in response to his outcry.
"You are in a place of liberty and personal license," she answered.
"Here you are free from the annoyances of narrow-minded pilgrims from
the King's Highway, and you may spend a season in pure delight in these
secret abodes which you will find more and more suited to the cravings
of your natural heart and mind."
Now Mr. World was a somewhat judicious man, and although he would not
sanction what he called church fanaticism, yet he had some self-respect,
and had never allowed himself to reach the slum-level of society.
"Here I cannot and will not stay. Are there no other apartments to
which I can go?" he asked, as the woman offered him a glass of wine,
and in a sensual way entreated him to remain.
Mr. World was a lover of wine, but was suspicious of the place, and
so he moved to go and found great difficulty in getting to another
door, which, at last, he reached only by determination, and, giving
a pass-word, he went into the first regular department of Satan's
Secret Service.
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