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THE RAPTURES AND ROSES OF VICE

Don&039;t s&039;pose we done &039;i on the bed, prodding the naked er He was face-down in a pillorists and ankles loosely tied with scarves to brass bedposts The nice white cotton sheets were spotted and stained

Mary Jane was preoccupied with dressing It was hard to set a bonnet without a mirror

&039;Mary Jane?&039;

&039;Marie Jeanette,&039; she corrected, loving the sound like ue, until she realised&039;I&039;ve been tellin&039; you for close on a year &039;Tis Marie Jeanette Marie Jeanette Kelly&039;

&039;Yer Kelly don&039;t go with yer "Marie Jeanette", Duchess&039;

&039;Tish-tush And pish-posh too&039;

&039;That bloke what took yer to Paree didn&039;t do the rest of us no favours&039;

&039;Any favours&039;

&039;Pardon me fer suckin&039;, Duchess&039;

&039;And don&039;t you be talkin&039; unkindly of uished Probably still is very distinguished&039;

&039;Unless &039;e&039;s a-rottin&039; froive &039;im,&039; Nell said, without real meanness

&039;Be aith the cheek of you, now&039;

Mary Jane was finally happy with her hat She was careful about her appearance She ht be a cocotte, but she wasn&039;t going to let herself go and become a fox-face horror like Nell Coles

The other woman sat on the bed, and felt around the poet&039;s neck, still sticky with his own blood

&039;We done &039;im, Mary Jane &039;E&039;s bleedin&039; dead, an&039; &039;e&039;ll turn for certain&039;

&039;Marie Jeanette&039;

&039;Yeah, an&039; I&039;m Contessa Eleanora Francesca Muckety-Muck Coernon up and down There were tiny bites, old and new, all over his body His back and bottom were striped with purple welts He had provided his own rods and encouraged the

&039;He&039;s an old hand at this, Nell It&039;d takeand a few love-bites to finish off this old cocker&039;

Nell dipped a finger into the blood pooling in the sot hairier with every moonrise She had to brush her cheeks and forehead noeeping her thick red hair back into a flaring ood for business Customers were peculiar She wrinkled her wide nose as she tasted the blood Nell was one of those who got &039;feelings&039; with her food Mary Jane was glad that didn&039;t happen to her

Nell made a face &039;That&039;s bitter,&039; she said &039;Who is the cove, anyway?&039;

&039;His friend said he was a poet&039;

A square-rigged gent had sought thee from Whitechapel to Putney The house was alernon had been sick and was taking the air for his health

&039;Got enough books, ain&039;t &039;e?&039;

Nell couldn&039;t read or write, but Mary Jane had her letters The small bedroom was lined with bookshelves

&039;Did &039;e write &039;em all?&039;

Mary Jane took a beautifully bound book down from a shelf, and let it fall open

&039;"Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath,"&039; she read aloud &039;"We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death"&039;

&039;Sounds lovely Yer reckon it&039;s about us?&039;

&039;Doubt it I think &039;tis about Our Lord Jesus&039;

Nell ed if someone showed her a crucifix, and couldn&039;t bear to hear the name of Christ Mary Jane still went to church when she could She had been told God was forgiving After all, the Lord returned froed folk to drink His blood Just like Miss Lucy

Mary Jane put the book back Algernon started gulping and Mary Jane held his head up There was so in his throat She burped him like a baby and let his head drop A reddish stain seeped into his pillow

&039;Come down and relieve us from virtue, Our Lady of Pain,&039; he said, clearly Then he slu

&039;Don&039;t sound dead, does he?&039;

Nell laughed &039;Garn, yer Irish cow&039;

&039;Silver and stake my heart will break, but names&039;ll never hurt me&039;

The other woman fastened her chemise over furry breasts

&039;Doesn&039;t all that hair tickle?&039;

&039;Never &039;ad any co When his back was bloody, he had let theh to finish him off After that he had been as harmless as a baby

Since she turned, Mary Jane had been opening her legs less Some men wanted the old-fashioned mixed in, but a lot only liked to be bitten and bled She remembered with a thrill of nasty pleasure what it had been like when Miss Lucy was at her throat, tiny teeth worrying at the wound Then the taste of Lucy&039;s blood, and the fire running through her, turning her

&039;Ladies of Pain, are we?&039; Nell said, belting her dress around thick red flanks

Mary Jane&039;s warm life was hazy in her mind She had been to Paris with Henry Wilcox; that she knew But she re of Ireland, of her brothers and sisters She knew from what folk who knew her said that she had come to London from Wales, that she had buried a husband, that she had been kept in a house in the West End Once in a while she would have a gli across an old keepsake, but her old life was a chalk picture in the rain, running and blurring She had been seeing clearly since her turning, as if a dirtyhad been wiped clean Occasionally, when she was full of soinny blood, her for in a gutter