Атлант расправил плечи
The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt
"Iknowwhattheymean,yourwords,yourconvictions,yourfriendshipandyouroathbytheonlywomanyouever—"
Hestopped.Theyallknewwhatthismeant,inthesameinstantthatReardenknewit.
HemadeasteptowardFrancisco;heasked,pointingatDagny,hisvoicelowandstrangelyunlikehisownvoice,asifitneithercamefromnorwereaddressedtoalivingperson,"Isthisthewomanyoulove?"
Franciscoclosedhiseyes.
"Don’taskhimthat!"ThecrywasDagny’s.
"Isthisthewomanyoulove?"
Franciscoanswered,lookingather,"Yes."
Rearden’shandrose,sweptdownandslappedFrancisco’sface.
ThescreamcamefromDagny.Whenshecouldseeagain—afteraninstantthatfeltasiftheblowhadstruckherowncheek—Francisco’shandswerethefirstthingshesaw.Theheirofthed’Anconiasstoodthrownbackagainstatable,claspingtheedgebehindhim,nottosupporthimself,buttostophisownhands.Shesawtherigidstillnessofhisbody,abodythatwaspulledtoostraightbutseemedbroken,withtheslight,unnaturalanglesofhiswaistlineandshoulders,withhisarmsheldstiffbutslantedback—hestoodasiftheeffortnottomovewereturningtheforceofhisviolenceagainsthimself,asifthemotionheresistedwererunningthroughhismusclesasatearingpain.
