I'm not senile, woman! And I'm not a senile woman!
My memory's fine. Why, I can remember just the other century, walking down the fine streets of London, looking for a lady of the evening that no one would miss. It was rather damp, as it always was at that time of night. I had turned the corner just around Berner Street, and as luck would have it, there she was. One Elizabeth Stride, standing and waiting for some gentleman to come by and perhaps offer her a bit of coin for a moment's entertainment.
Oh sure, I was rarely called a gentleman in those days. It was usually something else. Something far more vulgar. But that didn't matter too much. To her, for some unknown reason, I was a friend. Someone she'd seen and taken a liking to. We'd shared a meal once or twice a few weeks before, and as I walked toward her, she recognized me. I can remember her smile as she greeted me.... and how all that made it so much easier to ask her to walk with me.
It was dark in Dutfield's Yard, as there wasn't much light to be found in that area at night. But there was enough light for her to get her lips to touch mine for a moment, and for her to give the crotch of my pants a fair rubbing. There was a cat fight somewhere nearby just then, distracting her for only a second or two. But that was long enough for me to take out what I had on me without her seeing it.
I can still recall her last words too, just before the blade opened up her throat. She'd asked, "So what's your pleasure tonight, Jack?".
...
So you see? My memory's fine.