Атлант расправил плечи
The Utopia of Greed
"Thenatnight,wewentoutonfoot—thesearchingpartiesofrailroadmenfromWinston—wewentclimbingatrandom,withnoclues,noplan,onandon,untilitwasdaylightagain,and—"Heshrugged,tryingtodismissitandtosmile."Iwouldn’twishitonmyworst—"
Hestoppedshort;hissmilevanishedandadimreflectionofthelookhehadwornforthreedayscamebacktohisface,asifatthesuddenpresenceofanimagehehadforgotten.
Afteralongmoment,heturnedtoGalt."John,"hisvoicesoundedpeculiarlysolemn,"couldwenotifythoseoutsidethatDagnyisalive...incasethere’ssomebodywho...who’dfeelasIdid?"
Galtwaslookingstraightathim."Doyouwishtogiveanyoutsideranyrelieffromtheconsequencesofremainingoutside?"
Franciscodroppedhiseyes,butansweredfirmly,"No."
"Pity,Francisco?"
"Yes.Forgetit.You’reright."
Galtturnedawaywithamovementthatseemedoddlyoutofcharacter:ithadtheunrhythmicalabruptnessoftheinvoluntary.
Hedidnotturnback;Franciscowatchedhiminastonishment,thenaskedsoftly,"What’sthematter?"
Galtturnedandlookedathimforamoment,notanswering.ShecouldnotidentifytheemotionthatsoftenedthelinesofGalt’sface:ithadthequalityofasmile,ofgentleness,ofpain,andofsomethinggreaterthatseemedtomaketheseconceptssuperfluous.
