Атлант расправил плечи

           Shewassettingthetable,whenshesawthefigureofamanhurryingupthepathtothehouse,aswift,agilefigurethatleapedoverboulderswiththecasualeaseofaflight.Hethrewthedooropen,calling,"Hey,John!"—andstoppedshortashesawher.Heworeadarkbluesweaterandslacks,hehadgoldhairandafaceofsuchshockingperfectionofbeautythatshestoodstill,staringathim,notinadmiration,atfirst,butinsimpledisbelief.

           Helookedatherasifhehadnotexpectedtofindawomaninthishouse.Thenshesawalookofrecognitionmeltingintoadifferentkindofastonishment,partamusement,parttriumphmeltingintoachuckle.

           "Oh,haveyoujoinedus?"heasked.

           "No,"sheanswereddryly,"Ihaven’t.I’mascab."

           Helaughed,likeanadultatachildwhousestechnologicalwordsbeyonditsunderstanding."Ifyouknowwhatyou’resaying,youknowthatit’snotpossible,"hesaid."Nothere."

           "Icrashedthegate.Literally."

           Helookedatherbandages,weighingthequestion,hisglancealmostinsolentinitsopencuriosity."When?"

           "Yesterday."

           "How?"

           "Inaplane."

           "Whatwereyoudoinginaplaneinthispartofthecountry?"

           Hehadthedirect,imperiousmannerofanaristocratoraroughneck;helookedlikeoneandwasdressedliketheother.