I didn't stop him at first I don't know why. He actually lifted my skirt and touched the skin of my thigh. said a young woman who admitted him to her apartment. She was the one of the lucky ones. One of the ones who lived. So soft-hearted so considerate, remarked the woman who should have known him best. His wife. A personable young man in his late twenties. Dark-haired, of medium build. With a charming, boyish grin and the proverbial gift of gab. Who would have thought he was the Boston Strangler.