She could only stare, her mouth fallen open and the rim of her eyes their widest.
"It's been so long to—hold back—so long. Since that first day at the street car—you kissed me—and now with gramaw gone—Lilly—"
She jerked him up from his knees this time, holding him firmly, even absurdly, by the coat lapels, shaking him.
"Harry, you've gone mad!"
"I love you, Lilly. All these years. I'm all alone now and—"
Her glance shot to the egress of the door, but, seeing that he anticipated her, she did not dart, but held herself back from him, her hands in an X across her breast.
"Harry," she said, trying to keep out of her voice a rising sense of fear, "you're not well You don't know what you are saying or doing."
"You treat me like a child, but I'm a man. Your age! You hear—a man with a man's feelings for a woman—for you—Lilly. You're my—be my—"
"You get out," she cried, her terror bursting out like a flame. "Get out or I'll call Mr. Alquist."
She referred to the superintendent of the apartment building, although she knew him to be well out of hearing. It is probable that Harry knew, too, because he had her by the elbows, pressing them in against her body and her hair flowing across his face.