With a felt slowness she lifted her head, turned her face.
—He is there! He has not moved. He stands there silent, held by the sight of me ... while I wept.
She smiled at him.
“Do you feel better now?”
She nodded.
“Sure?”
She nodded. He brought her coat and hat. An orange feather tufted from the straw. His long vein-straggled hand ran over the feather. She looked at it. The feather was not ruffled.
“Thank you,” she said very soft.
His face was rounder with a smile. She saw his jagged teeth and his soft twining lips. She saw the dimple in his chin and his long neck.—Ostrich! She was alert, serious as he helped her. She felt him ... good ... with her back ... all about her ... as he helped her.
—He is sure! While I wept, he was there, not moving!