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About Portmore

She’s a sly one, this tart – calls herself Bess, tho’ I reckon that’s bollocks. Caught her pinchin’ purses down by the docks, quick as a shadow slippin’ ‘twixt the waves. Made me bloody furious, that did! Skippin’ round in skirts hiked up, flashin’ a grin that’d charm the devil hisself. “What hast thou done?” I bellowed, like that father in the movie ragin’ at his boys. She just laughed – a cackle, mate, pure filth! Said she’d bedded a magistrate once, got off a charge. True? Who bloody knows – she spins tales like a spider spins webs.