But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don't you hear? get away
from before the door; your patched boots are stopping the way.
So on I went. I now by instinct followed the streets that
took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest,
if not the cheeriest inns.
Such dreary streets! Blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand,
and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb.
At this hour of the night, of the last day of the week,
that quarter of the town proved all but deserted. But presently
I came to a smoky light proceeding from a low, wide building,
the door of which stood invitingly open. It had a careless look,
as if it were meant for the uses of the public; so, entering,
the first thing I did was to stumble over an ash-box in the porch.
Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying particles almost choked me, are these
ashes from that destroyed city, Gomorrah? But "The Crossed Harpoons,"
and the "The Sword-Fish?"--this, then must needs be the sign
of "The Trap." However, I picked myself up and hearing a loud
voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior door.
It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred
black faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond,
a black Angel of Doom was beating a book in a pulpit.
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