He gave his creature the pseudonym he was using when I met him. A little joke, that name. Men of our sort are always hiding.
I called him my angel once, and he shuddered. Later I understood that he counted me among the temptations of which he longed to be rid.
You ask if I saw him transform—I who saw him cross the street to avoid the eyes he had kissed the night before. No. Not in the way you mean.
Hyde came to me only once. Thank God I feared scandal less than I feared his odious person. I suspect he should have killed me afterward.
But Henry Jekyll loved me, and that monster, the vessel of his sins, did not. I submit that it was not made to hold a sinless thing.
R. Gatwood (@iwantanewhead) is a strange case.