Once, when we heard the sharp step of a constable upon his rounds, Stoker whisked me into the dark corner of a tradesman’s yard, pushing me up against the brick wall as his arms came firmly about me. I hitched my leg around his waist and twined my arms about his neck, knotting my fingers in his hair as he pressed his face into my neck, nuzzling the delicate skin of my ear. The bobby’s light flashed our way, illuminating a stocking-clad leg and a glimpse of thigh tight in Stoker’s grip. The bobby chuckled, no doubt taking us for a wayward maidservant and her panting swain, and went about his
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