The Well of Loneliness

Angela went to her husband's study, and she stood before him utterly shaken, utterly appalled at what she would do, yet utterly and ruthlessly determined to do it from a primitive instinct of self-preservation. In her ears she could still hear that terrible laughter -- that uncanny, hysterical, agonized laughter. Stephen was mad, and God only knew what she might do or say in a moment of madness, and then -- but she dared not look into the future. Cringing in spirit and trembling in body, she forgot the girl's faithful and loyal devotion, her will to forgive, her desire to protect, so clearly set forth in that pitiful letter.

She said: "Ralph, I want to ask your advice. I'm in an awful mess -- it's Stephen Gordon. You think I've been carrying on with Roger -- good Lord, if you only knew what I've endured these last few months! I have seen a great deal of Roger, I admit -- quite innocently of course -- still, all the same, I've seen him -- I thought it would show her that I'm not -- that I'm not -- " For one moment her voice seemed about to fail her, then she went on quite firmly: "that I'm not a pervert; that I'm not that sort of degenerate creature."