Most of this early time in London was brightened by occasional meetings with Oscar Wilde. As I have told in my book about him, I was introduced to him at Mrs. Jeune’s;1 and I was surprised first of all by the kindness of his literary and artistic judgments and then by his wit and humor. Did I know Frank Miles?’2 he asked shortly after we first met. ‘We are living together; he’s one of the finest artists of this time,’ and nothing would do but we must look out Miles in order that I should be introduced to him then and there.
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