W.T. Stead (1849-1912) was een Britse dagbladuitgever.
My wife is away. She seems to have conceived, and next October there will probably be another soul born into the world. So far her health is somewhat improved but all the year she has been a more or less constant invalid. Since she conceived I have read to her Ibsen's plays, Tolstoy, Faiths of the World and part of Gogol. I shall read Goethe, Shakespeare, etc. She is still various in her moods. Now and then a week or a fortnight of her old self but on the whole year not one month herself. Intercourse almost suspended. Three weeks' interval intermitted from fear of pain in ovary, resumed at her wish with great passion of desire [on my part]. Only once this year has she had fierce, strong longing. I had been preparing myself for apparently endless abstinence when suddenly it came on her in my absence. I noticed the change when I returned. She told me and was very loving. How rare are such moments. How longingly I remember them. Ah if she were but always so!