Атлант расправил плечи
The Utopia of Greed
"Latelastnight."
"Sitdown.You’regoingtohavebreakfastwithus."
"Butwhere’sFrancisco?Whyisn’thehereyet?"
"Idon’tknow,"saidGalt,frowningslightly."Iaskedattheairport,justnow.Nobody’sheardfromhim."
Assheturnedtothekitchen,Galtmovedtofollow."No,"shesaid,"it’smyjobtoday."
"Letmehelpyou."
"Thisistheplacewhereonedoesn’taskforhelp,isn’tit?"
Hesmiled."That’sright."
Shehadneverexperiencedthepleasureofmotion,ofwalkingasifherfeethadnoweighttocarry,asifthesupportofthecaneinherhandweremerelyasuperfluoustouchofelegance,thepleasureoffeelingherstepstraceswift,straightlines,ofsensingthefaultless,spontaneousprecisionofhergestures—assheexperienceditwhileplacingtheirfoodonthetableinfrontofthetwomen.Herbearingtoldthemthatsheknewtheywerewatchingher—sheheldherheadlikeanactressonastage,likeawomaninaballroom,likethewinnerofasilentcontest.
"Franciscowillbegladtoknowthatit’syouwhowerehisstand-intoday,"saidDanneskjold,whenshejoinedthematthetable.
"Hiswhat?"
"Yousee,todayisJunefirst,andthethreeofus—John,FranciscoandI—havehadbreakfasttogetheroneveryJunefirstfortwelveyears.
