Journal of Katherine Mansfield
And once again the door opened, and she passed as it were into another world—the world of night, cold, timeless, inscrutable.
Again she saw the beautiful fall of the steps, the dark garden edged with fluttering ivy—on the other side of the road the huge bare willows—and above them the sky big and bright with stars.
Again there came that silence that was a question—but this time she did not hesitate. She moved forward, very softly and gently—as though fearful of making a ripple in that boundless pool of quiet. She put her arm round her friend. The friend is astonished—murmurs “It has been so nice.” The other—“Good-night, dear friend.” A long tender embrace. Yes, that was it—of course that was what was wanting.