hat sad expression which the pock-marks often give. Gents did
not like it, she said. It was a dreadfully sloppy, snowy night. "Don't
go yet", said she, "it is so warm here." So I sat a while feeling her
quim and talking. "Do me again, I want it now, I did not when you did
it before." So we fucked again. "Do I please you?" said the girl putting
her hand to my face. "Yes my dear." "Will you see me again?--do." I was
always careful about promising that, and hesitated; but at length said
yes. Again I rose to go, again the girl asked me to stay, it was so
warm. "Pay the woman again and say you are going to stay till ten
o'clock." There was such simplicity about her that I consented. The woman
put coals on the fire, and we sat by it warming ourselves.

After a time she said, "I don't think you like me." "Why?" "Because you
don't feel me about." I laughed, and said I had been feeling her. Time
ran on. "Won't you do it again?" "I can't dear." "Let me try to make you."
"You may, but I can't." She came to me, knelt down, played funnily,
but awkwardly with my cock till it stiffened, and again we fucked.
"You won't see me again, though you say you will." "Why not?" asked I
wondering at her sad manner. "They all say they will, but they never
do,--it's the small-pox marks they can't bear, I know it is,--I'm tired
of this life." Then suddenly she laughed and said she was only joking.

I never did see her again. Such a young, white-fleshed girl, and so fond
of the cock, or else she had had but little of it, I have rarely met
with. She said she had only been out two months. "The other girls tell
me what to do with men, and the old woman where I live tells me; but I
always does what a gentleman asks me, I can't do more, can I?" said she.
"Other gals say they have regular friends, I haven't." I shall never
forget that poor little girl.

On a cold evening a week or two after this, I saw a shortish, dark-eyed
girl going along the Strand. She walked slowly, and looked in at almost
every shop. I could not make up my mind if she were gay or not. She was
warmly wrapped up, her style that of a well-to-do servant. I passed and
repassed her, looked her in the face; her eyes met mine and dropped,
then she stopped and looked round several times after unmistakeable
gay women as they passed her, then went on again. Opposite the Adelphi
she paused and looked at the theatre for a long time, a gentleman spoke
to her, and seemed to importune her, she too