“And how do you get them in?” I asked, interested despite myself.
“We whip them in,” he replied softly. “Or rather our slaves do. They enjoy it, and are never particular when to stop. It is all we can do at times to call them off. It is their method of welcoming strangers. Come,” he added, “let us go.”
“No,” I repeated. “I have seen enough of this place to last me some time.”
He only laughed.
“Come,” he said, “you must get accustomed to it. For aught I can tell, the next may be Deborah.”
And then with a sudden strength, of which I had judged myself incapable since coming there, I threw his hand off.
“You doubtless have all power over those who get down here,” I remarked. “But whilst a man or woman is yet on the earth there is still means of escape.”
“Very rarely,” he commented, smiling. “Once let them get the noose round their necks, and the more they struggle the tighter grows the knot.”
However, because I refused to go he returned with me to the palace.
“You have missed a never-to-be-forgotten sight,” he said as he led the way to the library, where I had first been conducted. “You won’t succeed in journalism if you throw away opportunities like that.”