Атлант расправил плечи

           Whatdoyouwantofme?—sheasked,feelingasifshewererunning,butnowaywereopentoescape.Whatdoyouwantofme?—sheasked,lookingatthewholelongtortureofhermarriagethathadnotlastedthefullspanofoneyear.

           "Whatdoyouwantofme?"sheaskedaloud—andsawthatshewassittingatthetableinherdiningroom,lookingatJim,athisfeverishface,andatadryingstainofwateronthetable.

           Shedidnotknowhowlongaspanofsilencehadstretchedbetweenthem,shewasstartledbyherownvoiceandbythe--questionshehadnotintendedtoutter.Shedidnotexpecthimtounderstandit,hehadneverseemedtounderstandmuchsimplerqueries—andsheshookherhead,strugglingtorecapturetherealityofthepresent.

           Shewasstartledtoseehimlookingatherwithatouchofderision,asifheweremockingherestimateofhisunderstanding.

           "Love,"heanswered.

           Shefeltherselfsaggingwithhopelessness,inthefaceofthatanswerwhichwasatoncesosimpleandsomeaningless.

           "Youdon’tloveme,"hesaidaccusingly.Shedidnotanswer."Youdon’tlovemeoryouwouldn’tasksuchaquestion."

           "Ididloveyouonce,"shesaiddully,"butitwasn’twhatyouwanted.Ilovedyouforyourcourage,yourambition,yourability.Butitwasn’treal,anyofit."

           Hislowerlipswelledalittleinafaint,contemptuousthrust."Whatashabbyideaoflove!"hesaid.