I'm terrified of men these days. If someone asked me out now, I don't know what I'd say, how I'd react. But I couldn't go through with it, not at all. I suppose I've been terrified of them all along.

I like to think that people live on in other people's memories.

If I don't tell it all now, the story in the history books will always be imperfect and that would be wrong.

I enjoyed sex and indulged in it when I fancied the men.

I never found anyone who was good enough, who I could trust enough.

However I dress it up, I was a spy and I am not proud of it.

The fathers, if they got me alone, would try to kiss and fondle me. I hated it.