"No, no," muttered the writer, "what folly to reopen the old wounds there!" and he carefully erased the words.
Audley Egerton did not ride in the Park that day, as was his wont, but dismissed his groom; and, turning his horse's head towards Westminster Bridge, took his solitary way into the country.

He rode at first slowly, as if in thought; then fast, as if trying to escape from thought.

He was later than usual at the House that evening, and he looked pale and fatigued.

But he had to speak, and he spoke well..