bewildered, to find my way down in the dark.

I groped along, holding to the rail, for the staircase to the
roof was very steep, and I went slowly. Half-way down the stairs
there was a tiny landing, and I stopped. I could have sworn I
heard Mr. Harbison's footsteps far below, growing fainter. I even
smiled a little, there in the dark, although I had been rather
profoundly shaken. The next instant I knew I had been wrong; some
one was on the landing with me. I could hear short, sharp
breathing, and then--

I am not sure that I struggled; in fact, I don't believe I did--I
was too limp with amazement. The creature, to have lain in wait
for me like that! And he was brutally strong; he caught me to him
fiercely, and held me there, close, and he kissed me--not once or
twice, but half a dozen times, long kisses that filled me with
hot shame for him, for myself, that I had--liked him. The
roughness of his coat bruised my cheek; I loathed him. And then
someone came whistling along the hall below, and he pushed me
from him and stood listening, breathing in long, gasping breaths.

I ran; when my shaky knees would hold me, I ran. I wanted to hide
my hot face, my disgust, my disillusion; I wanted to put my head
in mother's lap and cry; I wanted to die, or be ill, so I need
never see him again. Perversely enough, I did none of those
things. With my face still flaming, with burning eyes and hands
that shook, I made a belated evening toilet and went slowly,
haughtily, down the stairs. My hands were like ice, but I was
consumed with rage. Oh, I would show him--that this was New York,
not Iquique; that the roof was not his Andean tableland.