I was glad that I’d taken the time to study the facts of the Mary Kelly case. I felt that in some way I’d managed to arm myself against whatever the Ripper himself may have subsequently added to the journal. Nothing could be more horrific than the truth, and the words of the doctor who’d carried out the post mortem on the poor girl had been all the more chilling in their cold, professional presentation. My great-grandfather had given enough away in his words to further arm me in my continued journey through what were to be the last few pages of the journal. My own father had always told me to listen to the truth as it presents itself, and that any subsequent lies or exaggerations will therefore cause me no harm. I had done that, as best as I could, and now once again I took hold of the jou
