Time was running out, for me, the Ripper, and for Mary Jane Kelly. It was strange I know that I felt like that. After all, the Ripper and his victim had both been dead for many years, and there was no reason why I should be thinking about them in real time, as though it were all happening in the present. Something about the journal however had enveloped my senses to the degree that it was impossible to think of what I was reading as a purely historical document. It was definitely having the effect of drawing me into its own macabre world of insanity and violent death.
If I’d been able to view my own situation from the outside, as a doctor viewing a patient I would have been seriously concerned about the state of mind of that patient. As it was of course, I couldn’t see what was happening
