Атлант расправил плечи
The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt
"Themenwho’vequit,aretheystillaliveordead?"
"They’redead—asfarasyou’reconcerned.Butthere’stobeaSecondRenaissanceintheworld.I’llwaitforit."
"No!"Thesuddenviolenceofhervoicewasinpersonalanswertohim,tooneofthetwothingshehadwantedhertohearinhiswords.
"No,don’twaitforme!"
"I’llalwayswaitforyou,nomatterwhatwedo,eitheroneofus."
Thesoundtheyheardwastheturningofakeyinthelockoftheentrancedoor.ThedooropenedandHankReardencamein.
Hestoppedbrieflyonthethreshold,thenwalkedslowlyintothelivingroom,hishandslippingthekeyintohispocket.
SheknewthathehadseenFrancisco’sfacebeforehehadseenhers.
Heglancedather,buthiseyescamebacktoFrancisco,asifthisweretheonlyfacehewasnowabletosee.
ItwasatFrancisco’sfacethatshewasafraidtolook.Theeffortshemadetopullherglancealongthecurveofafewstepsfeltasifshewerepullingaweightbeyondherpower.Franciscohadrisentohisfeet,asifintheunhurried,automaticmannerofad’Anconiatrainedtothecodeofcourtesy.TherewasnothingthatReardencouldseeinhisface.Butwhatshesawinitwasworsethanshehadfeared.
"Whatareyoudoinghere?"askedRearden,inthetoneonewouldusetoaddressamenialcaughtinadrawingroom.
