Атлант расправил плечи
The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt
Shesawhisconvulsedfingersstrugglingtogrowfasttothetable’sedge,shewonderedwhichwouldbreakfirst,thewoodofthetableorthebonesoftheman,andsheknewthatRearden’slifehunginthebalance.
WhenhereyesmoveduptoFrancisco’sface,shesawnosignofstruggle,onlytheskinofhistemplespulledtightandtheplanesofhischeeksdrawninward,seemingfaintlymorehollowthanusual.Itmadehisfacelooknaked,pureandyoung.Shefeltterrorbecauseshewasseeinginhiseyesthetearswhichwerenotthere.Hiseyeswerebrilliantanddry.HewaslookingatRearden,butitwasnotReardenthathewasseeing.Helookedasifhewerefacinganotherpresenceintheroomandasifhisglanceweresaying:Ifthisiswhatyoudemandofme,theneventhisisyours,yourstoacceptandminetoendure,thereisnomorethanthisinmetoofferyou,butletmebeproudtoknowthatIcanoffersomuch.Shesaw—withasinglearterybeatingundertheskinofhisthroat,withafrothofpinkinthecornerofhismouth—thelookofanenraptureddedicationwhichwasalmostasmile,andsheknewthatshewaswitnessingFranciscod’Anconia’sgreatestachievement.
Whenshefeltherselfshakingandheardherownvoice,itseemedtomeetthelastechoofherscreamintheairoftheroom—andsherealizedhowbriefamomenthadpassedbetween.
