Explore "The Well of Loneliness" by Radclyffe Hall on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When they got back to Morton there was Puddle in the hall, with that warm smile of hers, always just a little mocking yet pitiful too, that queer composite smile that made her face so arresting. And the sight of this faithful little grey woman brought home to Stephen the fact that she had missed her. She had missed her, she found, out of all proportion to the size of the creature, which seemed to have diminished. Coming back to it after those weeks of absence, Puddle's smallness seemed to be even smaller, and Stephen could not help laughing as she hugged her. Then she suddenly lifted her right off her feet with as much ease as though she had been a baby.
Morton smelt good with its log fires burning, and Morton looked good with the goodness of home. Stephen sighed with something very like contentment: "Lord! I'm so glad to be back again, Puddle. I must have been a cat in my last incarnation; I hate strange places -- especially Cornwall."