Атлант расправил плечи

           "Jim,whatisitthatyouwanttobelovedfor?"

           "Whatacheapshopkeeper’sattitude!"

           Shedidnotspeak;shelookedathim,hereyesstretchedbyasilentquestion.

           "Tobelovedfor!"hesaid,hisvoicegratingwithmockeryandrighteousness."Soyouthinkthatloveisamatterofmathematics,ofexchange,ofweighingandmeasuring,likeapoundofbutteronagrocerycounter?Idon’twanttobelovedforanything.Iwanttobelovedformyself—notforanythingIdoorhaveorsayorthink.Formyself—notformybodyormindorwordsorworksoractions."

           "Butthen...whatisyourself?"

           "Ifyoulovedme,youwouldn’taskit."Hisvoicehadashrillnoteofnervousness,asifhewereswayingdangerouslybetweencautionandsomeblindlyheedlessimpulse."Youwouldn’task.You’dknow.You’dfeelit.Whydoyoualwaystrytotagandlabeleverything?Can’tyouriseabovethosepettymaterialisticdefinitions?Don’tyoueverfeel—justfeel?"

           "Yes.Jim,Ido,"shesaid,hervoicelow."ButIamtryingnotto,because...becausewhatIfeelisfear."

           "Ofme?"heaskedhopefully.

           "No,notexactly.Notfearofwhatyoucandotome,butofwhatyouare."

           Hedroppedhiseyelidswiththeswiftnessofslammingadoor—butshecaughtaflashofhiseyesandtheflash,incredibly,wasterror.