She was not accustomed to taste the joys of solitude except in company.
What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.
Selden and Lily stood still, accepting the unreality of the scene as a part of their own dream-like sensations. It would not have surprised them to feel a summer breeze on their faces, or to see the lights among the boughs reduplicated in the arch of a starry sky. The strange solitude about them was no stranger than the sweetness of being alone in it together.
Little as she was addicted to solitude, there had come to be moments when it seemed a welcome escape from the empty noises of her life.
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