What was a thrilling matter to the world was a torturing memory to me.

The quintessence of the torture was, moreover, my own secret.

It was not the loss of the Lady Jermyn that I could not bear to speak about; it was my own loss; but the one involved the other.

My loss apart, however, it was plain enough to dwell upon experiences so terrible and yet so recent as those which I had lived to tell.

I did what I considered my duty to the public, but I certainly did no more.