Seventeen – StockingsIt was early morning, 8 September, a week and a day since that little job in Buck's Row, and Yours Truly was on the hunt.
It was almost dawn, meaning very late for me. In my last two efforts, by then, I was safely back home and in bed. But there it was, nearly dawn and I was still looking for a prospect; the right kind of w***e (one disgusting with drink). And running out of time. I considered the notion with my previous outings I had delivered such a strong message the besotted prostitutes had all gone into hiding, but knew that couldn't be true. Those people didn't learn that quickly. No, my work was not done.
I had to admit I'd made my chore more difficult by insisting the night's effort had to be conducted in Hanbury Street. Why I took that risk, locking myself i
