You forget that this is Whitechapel. For all that we have done here, she is still the merciless bitch of the east.Whitechapel is life. In all its wild and rotten splendour. Beside it, the rest of the world seems a tomb.It is rotten and wild. It is heaving, and pitiless, and ignorant…And yet I have seen nowhere to match it. It is our heartland, Bennet Drake.It is our life’s work, Edmund Reid.
You’ve seen Hampton. The promenade, the
parasols, the polite conversation amidst the teacups. There is nothing of it
that breathes. There is nothing of it that is alive and quick and stinking and
bright. Whitechapel is life in all its wild and rotten splendor. Beside it, the
rest of the world seems a tomb.