It was October. The earth was aflame
with the fires of the forest. Jays cried from the maples. The air was
subtle with a delicate scent of pine needles and fallen leaves.
She had other guests in the house. But they dispersed themselves
gracefully. We were much alone, reading, listening to music played
softly by one of her woman friends at a distance in the drawing room.
Our favorite place was the window seat in the library, heaped with
pillows and overlooking lilac and rose bushes, where we could see the
great elms, the fountain, the country beyond. We had many walks
together; and one afternoon we came to a place on a woodland path amid
hills, trees towering above us, a brook playing below us. The air was
hushed with a passionate Orpheus, and there I sensed her yearning. I
heard the rhythm of her flesh singing to me. Her hands were stretched
toward me, the pupils of her eyes grew wide as if a vision stood before
her. For the first time I kissed Isabel upon the lips.
Hitherto we had breathed the rarefied air of the peaks, seen the white
light of the upper spaces, felt the passionless gods about us. Now we
were descending the rich valleys, to the clustered vines, to the places
of soft sounds and voluptuous air, to havens of sleep, to the
replenishment of our souls in the bridal supper.
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