Tuesday, January 29, 1861
Jude Royer reminded himself he was no prude. He didn’t judge the college classmates who visited known women, nor the easy cavorting of the young bucks heading in the direction of the bagnios on Davis Street, a district built on old swampy lands alongside the bend in the Jones Falls before it flowed into the harbor.
Neither did he comment when he saw them in the pews at Central Presbyterian the following morning. Men were men. They had… urges. As for the loose women…
He shook his head. They were, somehow, much worse. For that reason alone, he’d never been inside a house of ill-repute till today.
“Highly reputed, I’m told,” Ernst said in escorting Jude inside Mrs. Travers’ establishment near the top of Davis Street, and Jude did admit he knew of its reputation in catering to well-off men assured that the high prices came with lady-like women, champagne, and most of all, sealed lips.
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