Атлант расправил плечи

           Thefloorofthevalleywaslikeapoolstillreflectingtheglowofthesky,butthelightwasthickeningfromgoldtocopper,theshoreswerefadingandthepeaksweresmoke-blue—whentheydrovetoMulligan’shouse.

           Therewasnotraceofexhaustionleftinherbearingandnoremnantofviolence.Shehadawakenedatsundown;steppingoutofherroom,shehadfoundGaltwaiting,sittingidlymotionlessinthelightofalamp.Hehadglancedupather;shehadstoodinthedoorway,herfacecomposed,herhairsmooth,herposturerelaxedandconfident—shehadlookedasshewouldhavelookedonthethresholdofherofficeintheTaggartBuilding,butfortheslightangleofherbodyleaningonacane.Hehadsatlookingatherforamoment,andshehadwonderedwhyshehadfeltcertainthatthiswastheimagehewasseeing—hewasseeingthedoorwayofheroffice,asifitwereasightlong-imaginedandlong-forbidden.

           Shesatbesidehiminthecar,feelingnodesiretospeak,knowingthatneitherofthemcouldconcealthemeaningoftheirsilence.Shewatchedafewlightscomeupinthedistanthomesofthevalley,thenthelightedwindowsofMulligan’shouseontheledgeahead.Sheasked,"Whowillbethere?"

           "Someofyourlastfriends,"heanswered,"andsomeofmyfirst."

           MidasMulliganmetthematthedoor.