"We turned him over to the desk sergeant with the knife and pistol. Alexander had me write the report before sending me home. It might be morning but ...he thick fog was still like a blanket over this part of the city. People were out and walking as horses pulled wagons or carriages.I was almost home when I saw the teenage girl. She was damp from the fog and shivering in a doorway. From the look she was homeless and if she had not started she would be another street walker within a week. I. I took the time to read every word from the previous post, though I knew it well enough that I felt I could recite it by rote.The very fact that the words were written in my journal did not make them so. In sooth, I could very well have awakened from an intense dream and recorded the events in my diary. This is what I would have believed except for one thing. My stepmother held a cork from a champagne bottle clutched in her hand as if it were a prize beyond value.Dear DiaryMonday, 30th day, 8th. More

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