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About Milan

Precious, she’s a riddle, ain’t she? Sells skin, but who’s buyin’? Dirty blokes, lonely sods—makes me mad! Why’s it gotta be her, eh? Hiss! Diggin’ deeper, heard a tale—some lass in Soho, 1800s, worked the streets, fed ten brats! Ten! Proper hero, that one—whore with a heart, huh? Beats washin’ dishes, I reckon. Still, stinks o’ desperation, don’t it? “This is my life, my one time!”—Monty’d scream that at her, I bet.

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But then, things take a turn. I’m headin’ back to my raft, and I see this couple fightin’ on the bridge. Like, full-on shouting match. I’m tryin’ to mind my business, but they’re gettin’ loud. The guy’s like, “You never listen!” and she’s like, “I’m done with this!” I’m thinkin’, “Dude, you’re in Sant-Antimo! Chill out!” But love is messy, I guess.

The Confrontation in Court with the Murderer of Her Sister