The Well of Loneliness

She let herself into the house with her latchkey. The place seemed full of an articulate silence that leapt out shouting from every corner -- a jibing, grimacing, vindictive silence. She brushed it aside with a sweep of her hand, as though it were some sort of physical presence.

But who was it who brushed that silence aside? Not Stephen Gordon. oh, no, surely not. Stephen Gordon was dead; she had died last night: "A l'heure de notre mort. " Many people had spoken those prophetic words quite a short time ago -- perhaps they had been thinking of Stephen Gordon.