Another week, and then some, went by. On the outside I maintained my composure but, inwardly, I was raving. November had come – and the streets were filthy again. There was nothing for it.
Saucy Jacky would go back to work.
But what of everyone in the streets searching for shabby me? For some unknown reason, I thought of the foreign hairdresser who, on my walk earlier in the week, had stepped from the fog to give me such a scare. As the encounter had, obviously, been memorable I dedicated my dress for the evening – Jack the Ripper"s return to the streets – to his inspiration. The shabby killer would take the night off. I would go out hunting again… and would do so dressed as a toff!
I remembered, particularly, the fellow"s fabulous moustache and decided that night"s drunken w***e deserv
