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MY SECRET LIFE there told of) then ﬁlled me with horror, and three claps; yet I was to leave off giving my passion to quiet women, and bestow all my attention for a time on gay women.

Walking up Waterloo place one evening, with plenty of money in my purse, and lust in my body, I met a ﬁne, clear complexioned woman, full twenty-ﬁve years of age, who addressed me in French, and then in broken English. She had an eye, and manner which fascinated me, her dress was quite elegant, as unlike the French women of Regen street of the present day, as a duchess is to a milkmaid; but she was the ordinary French whore of the day, of whom there were but few in London (there was no railway to Paris); and who were exclusively supported by gentlemen at the West-End. I went home with her to a house at the corner of G-l-n square, after fearing and hesitating.

As I got to the door my fear returned, and but for shame I would not have gone in. “I have but little money”, said I, “Have you not a Victoria?” said she. “No.” “You will ﬁnd one, I am sure.” By that time the door was opened, and in I went. “You will ﬁnd one Victoria”, said she in broken English as she closed the room-door, but if not, shall you not give me what you shall ﬁnd.” The room was nicely furnished, out of it was a nice large bed-room and a smaller one (she paid twenty shillings a week for all, as you will soon hear). Four wax candles were lighted, down she sat, so did I, and we looked at each other. I could say nothing.

“Shall I undress?” said she at length. “Yes”, I replied, and she began. Never had I seen a woman take oil such ﬁne linen before, never such legs in handsome —284—