Explore "The Well of Loneliness" by Radclyffe Hall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was only five days till Sunday, yet for Stephen those five days seemed like as many years. Every evening now she rang up The Grange to inquire about Angela's hand and Tony, so that she grew quite familiar with the butler, with his quality of voice, with his habit of coughing, with the way he hung up the receiver.
She did not stop to analyse her feelings, she only knew that she felt exultant -- for no reason at all she was feeling exultant, very much alive too and full of purpose, and she walked for miles alone on the hills, unable to stay really quiet for a moment. She found herself becoming acutely observant, and now she discovered all manner of wonders; the network of veins on the leaves, for instance, and the delicate hearts of the wild dog-roses, the uncertain shimmering flight of the larks as they fluttered up singing, close to her feet. But above all she rediscovered the cuckoo -- it was June, so the cuckoo had changed his rhythm -- she must often stand breathlessly still to listen: "Cuckoo-kook, cuckoo-kook," all over the hills; and at evening the songs of blackbirds and thrushes.