Атлант расправил плечи
The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt
Heseemedtoknowthatthequietsimplicityofhermannerwastheworstofallsignsforhispurpose,thatitwaslikeaspreadofasheswherenoflickerofpaincouldberevived,thatevenpainwouldhavebeenaformoffire.
"Sitdown,Francisco."
Sheremainedstandingbeforehim,asifconsciouslylettinghimseethatshehadnothingtohide,noteventhewearinessofherposture,thepriceshehadpaidforthisdayandhercarelessnessofprice.
"Idon’tthinkIcanstopyounow,"hesaid,"ifyou’vemadeyourchoice.Butifthere’sonechancelefttostopyou,it’sachanceIhavetotake."
Sheshookherheadslowly."Thereisn’t.And—whatfor,Francisco?
You’vegivenup.WhatdifferencedoesitmaketoyouwhetherIperishwiththerailroadorawayfromit?"
"Ihaven’tgivenupthefuture."
"Whatfuture?"
"Thedaywhenthelooterswillperish,butwewon’t."
"IfTaggartTranscontinentalistoperishwiththelooters,thensoamI."
Hedidnottakehiseyesoffherfaceandhedidnotanswer.
Sheaddeddispassionately,"IthoughtIcouldlivewithoutit.Ican’t.
I’llnevertryitagain.Francisco,doyouremember?—webothbelieved,whenwestarted,thattheonlysinonearthwastodothingsbadly,Istillbelieveit."Thefirstnoteoflifeshudderedinhervoice.
