The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. "If I am the devil," observed Wild, "as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody. I don’t want you to be sad. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice.
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