The Well of Loneliness

The months passed, and now more than a year had slipped by, yet Stephen's novel remained unfinished; for Mary's face stood between her and her work -- surely the mouth and the eyes had hardened?

Still unwilling to let Mary go without her, she dragged wearily round to the bars and cafés, observing with growing anxiety that Mary now drank as did all the others -- not too much perhaps, but quite enough to give her a cheerful outlook on existence.