The Well of Loneliness

One evening towards the end of June, Jonathan Brockett walked in serenely: "Hallo, Stephen! Here I am, I've turned up again -- not that I love you, I positively hate you. I've been keeping away for weeks and weeks. Why did you never answer my letters? Not so much as a line on a picture postcard! There's something in this more than meets the eye. And where's Puddle? She used to be kind to me once -- I shall lay my head down on her bosom and weep. " He stopped abruptly, seeing Mary Llewellyn, who got up from her deep armchair in the corner.

Stephen said: "Mary, this is Jonathan Brockett -- an old friend of mine; we're fellow writers. Brockett, this is Mary Llewellyn."