Chapter Six: In Which My Relationship With Raffles Becomes Somewhat StrainedIt was, I suppose, early afternoon when Moran roused me from my slumber to tell me that she was popping out to find warmer clothes and food. I stirred on the bed and smiled at her. Her lips had dried blood all over them. The blood that had been on my lips from that p********e in Whitechapel was now on her lips. Unbeknownst to us both, in the darkness she had kissed my lips clean.
“Your lips,” I said.
She smiled, told me to go back to sleep, and then she disappeared into the day, the one place where I could not follow her.
I must have dozed for a few hours, and at length the door to the bedroom flung open and in stomped Moran. As well as her suit and shirt, she was now wearing a bowler hat, long overcoat, and a s
