Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde 1908 Official

London, 1908. The fog did not merely creep; it clung . It wrapped itself around the gaslights of Marylebone like a patient strangler, turning the new electric streetlamps into jaundiced, buzzing eyes. Dr. Henry Jekyll, F.R.S., stood at the window of his Harley Street consulting room, watching the soot-blackened broughams slide past.

He changed back. He went home. He sat in his study for three hours, looking at the silver razor he used for shaving. Then he wrote a letter to the police, anonymously, giving Hyde’s address. Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde 1908

He was forty-seven. His hair was silver at the temples, his hands steady, his reputation as solid as the Portland stone of his townhouse. He had dined with the Prince of Wales twice. His paper on spinal reflexes had been read in Berlin. And he was dying of boredom. London, 1908