“Don't cry, you're used badly, — I'll give you a little money until you get a place, — it won't be long.” “You're a good kind master,” said she, “everyone says so, — but Missus is a beast, she ain't no good to any one, — I don't wonder you are out so much, and don't sleep with her.” I gave a kiss and a cuddle. “What lovely limbs you have, — how firm your flesh is, — you are delicious, — I should like to sleep with you, — come into the lane with me, and tell me when you are going to piddle again, and let me take a liberty.”

“Who told you I went up the lane?” “Your mistress,” and then I left, telling her on no account to let it be known that I had been home.

After this I heard that she had said it was a soldier. Now I knew that a soldier who took liberties with a woman, took no little ones, and generally got all he tried for; so made up my mind that she had been fucked on the night she came home late.

A day or two after I was surprised with the following. “I've got another servant, — she will come the day after to-morrow, so I mean to send Sarah away at once, — of course she will be paid her month's wages, but I shall get rid of her, for I am sure she is an unchaste woman.” “Poor devil! — it's enough to make her unchaste, — but it's your business.” “Are you going out to-night?” “Why?” “Because if you are I'm going round to my sister's.” “I am.” — and off I went after dinner; but waited in a cab not far from the end of the street, watching to see if she really did go out. She did, and directly I spied her I drew myself back, and told cabby to follow her to the sister's house. Then I drove back part of the way, and went home.

“So you are going?” said I to the servant. “Yes, I'm turned out, sir.” “A soldier and you went up a dark lane, — what a fool to tell your mistress.” “Ah! she has told you, — what a bad un, she sneaked it out of me, — but I'm not to blame, he is my sweetheart, and is going to marry me.” “Have you got lodgings?” “Yes sir, I'm going out to-morrow to see them, and I've written telling my sister (a servant also, and she has taken them.” “Wait for me when you go, and on no account say I've been home, — I mean to help you, — you are badly used, — what can I do for you?” “If you would help me to go to the Tower, — my young man's name is ***, he is a Grenadier, — I've written him, but he has not replied, and I want to know if he is there.” “I will wait for you to-morrow night outside, when you go to see the lodgings.” A kiss, a hug, and out of my house I went again, after having ascertained where she was going to, and the time she was to go out.

Next evening I waited outside her lodgings, she came in a cab with her box, and told me that her mistress had bundled her out. She had had nothing to eat since mid-day, and was sick and weary. “Make haste then, — arrange your things, and we will go and have something to eat, and you shall see your soldier tomor-row.” “God bless you, I do feel grateful sir,” said she.

In half an hour she came out. I did not know where better to go to, and knew that it was just the time when the place would be empty, so took her to the Cafe de l'Europe in the Haymarket. It was a long drive, but I wanted to be with her in the dark cab. She was wonderfully struck with the place, but I was ashamed of being seen with her. She was anxious to go home early, because she lodged with poor people who went to bed early. She had never tasted champagne, so I gave her some. Oh! her delight as she quaffed it, and oh! mine as I saw her drink it, — it was just what I wanted. “A cock has been into her I am sure,” I thought, “so another can't do her much harm, — if she'll fuddle she'll feel and be felt, or fuck, or frig, they always go together,” my old instructor in the ways of women used to say.

I arranged to take her the next day to the Tower; our talk naturally was about the affair. “He did it to you,” I said. She wouldn't or didn't see my meaning. “I could not help it if he did, or what he did, — he took unproper liberties.” “He took them more than once, I'll bet!” She did not like such joking, she remarked. All this was when we were going out to supper.

Going home in the cab I began to say a baudy word to her. “He felt your cunt,” said I, “did you feel his prick?” She bounced up and hit her bonnet against the top of the cab. “Oh! my! sir,” — but she kept on in her excitement, letting out bits of the history, saying at intervals, it was not her fault, — she was fuddled, —fuddled with beer and gin, — a little fuddled her. I saw that pretty clearly from the effect of the champagne; and unbuttoned so as to have my prick handy. It was a wet night, the bottom of the cab was wet straw. “My feet are quite wet,” said she. “Put them on the seat, my dear.” She did so; I felt them as if solicitous for her comfort, putting my hand higher than above her ankle, just to see if her ankles were wet also.

“Why your ankles are wet.” “Yes they are.” With a sudden push up went my hand between her thighs, — a yell and a struggle, but I had felt the split before she dislodged my fingers. She was stronger than me, but my hands roved about her great limbs, searching under her petticoats round her huge backside. “Oh! don't, — you're a beast.” “Oh! what a backside — what thighs! — what a lovely cunt I'm sure you have! — let me keep my hand just on your knee, and I swear I won't put my hand higher.” To ensure my keeping my hand there, she held my wrist as well as a vise would have done. She had by sheer force got it down to there.

I pattered out all my lust, my desire to have her, incitements, and baudy compliments on her form. “Let me fuck you.” “You shan't.” “You know what it means.” “I know what you mean.” “What harm could I do? — who would know?” And then the old, old trick. Taking her great fist in mine, I put my stiff prick into it. What a persuader! Though she kept up a show of struggling she did not get it away from that article instantly.

I suppose unless utterly distasteful to each other, that a man and woman cannot feel each other's privates, without experiencing reciprocal baudy emotions. They get tender to each other. The woman always does, after she has got over the first shock to her modesty, and her temporary anger. If after a man has felt her, a thermometer could be applied to her split, I believe it would be found to have risen considerably in temperature. After struggling and kissing, trying to feel her quim, trying to keep my hand on her thighs, it ended in our having our mouths together and my hand being pinched between her two thighs, whilst the knuckles of one of her hands, with sham reluctance touched my doodle, just as the cab reached her dwelling, and there we parted. All the rest of our conversation was about her soldier, her being dismissed, and is not worth writing.

Chapter VIII

The next day. • At the Tower. • In tears. • “The wretch is married.” • At T***f***d Street. • After dinner. • On the chamber-pot. • My wishes refused. • An attack. • Against the bed. • A stout resistance. • I threaten to leave her. • Tears and supplications. • On the sofa. • Reluctant consent. • A half-virgin.

Next day she met me early, and we drove to the Tower. On the road I instructed her what to do when there (it was full six miles off). I tried my best to get her passions up in a delicate way, but amatory fingerings I avoided whilst the poor woman was in search of her lover. The feeling of each other's privates on the previous night, had opened her heart to me. She let out a little more of the history of her escapade with the soldier, and asked my advice how to act in certain eventualities, which could only be applicable to a woman who had been rogered. She was painfully anxious as she approached the Tower. I stopped in the cab just in sight of the entrance, and after instructing her care-fully again who to ask for, and what to do, in she went.