“If you don't mind helping once more,” I began—
She inclined her head.
“—I'll have to lift it over those wrinkles.”
So I caught hold and lifted with all my strength. She went around to the other side and threw her weight against it. Together we finally got it back squarely across the doorway.
“I've made you a great deal of trouble,” I said, “and I'm sorry.” I could n't resist adding the question, “Did you move it here before, by yourself?”
She looked at me; then, slowly and guardedly, nodded.
I shook my head, ruefully I think. “You are a strong woman.”
“No,” she said, without any change of expression, with not the slightest animation of manner, “but it did n't catch in the matting that time.”
I walked toward the door, with my coat thrown over my arm. It was hard to go away like that. I wonder why it is that I seem always to be walking away from women.
At the door I turned and glanced back at her. She was still there by the bureau, watching me go. I felt that she was looking rather intently at the coat on my arm, and it suddenly occurred to me that I must not leave her room like that, in my shirt sleeves. I felt the color come rushing to my face as I struggled into the coat.