“Didn’t you? Well, we live and learn. The people are as queer as the habitations,” returned his mistress, with a merry laugh.
Alf thought there was not much to laugh at. In fact, he was more disposed to feel dispirited and depressed.
This was not to be wondered at, for the locality was a perfect den of iniquity. The street was inhabited chiefly by women, who were the most abandoned and criminal of their sex; they were foul abusive creatures, and here they lived—a republic of demons.
The boy felt intuitively that he was in the unwholesome atmosphere which was breathed by the very worst of the human species. He shuddered and crept close to his companion, who took him by the hand and led him along the street.
“You seem to be a little disconcerted,” said she. “What’s the matter, Alf?”
“I shall be glad when we are out of this vile street,” he returned.
“Oh, don’t be alarmed, my boy—there’s no one will harm you.”
“I don’t like the place,” cried Alf.
If he had been disgusted with the place upon first making its acquaintance, he was still more so as he proceeded along.
At the sound of strange steps lights gleamed on all sides, and women emerged from every door. Many of them were only partially clothed, and the appearance they presented was perfectly loathsome. Their faces were swollen with drink, and the expression of their features was simply disgusting.