Атлант расправил плечи
Anti-Life
"shesaidwearily,droppingherhead,asifsomeshapeshehadtriedtocapturehadslippedoncemoreoutofhergrasp."Idon’tknow...Itdoesn’tseempossible..."
"You’dbetternottrytowadeinwayoveryourheador—"Buthehadtostop,becausethebutlerentered,bringingtheglitteringicebucketwiththechampagneorderedforcelebration.
Theyremainedsilent,lettingtheroombefilledbythesoundswhichcenturiesofmenandofstrugglehadestablishedasthesymbolofjoyousattainment:theblastofthecork,thelaughingtinkleofapalegoldliquidrunningintotwobroadcupsfilledwiththeweavingreflectionsofcandles,thewhisperofbubblesrisingthroughtwocrystalstems,almostdemandingthateverythinginsightrise,too,inthesameaspiration.
Theyremainedsilent,tillthebutlerhadgone.Taggartsatlookingdownatthebubbles,holdingthestemofhisglassbetweentwolimplycasualfingers.Thenhishandclosedsuddenlyaboutthestemintoanawkwardlyconvulsedfistandheraisedit,notasoneliftsaglassofchampagne,butasonewouldliftabutcherknife.
"ToFranciscod’Anconia!"hesaid.
Sheputherglassdown."No,"sheanswered.
"Drinkit!"hescreamed.
"No,"sheanswered,hervoicelikeadropoflead.
Theyheldeachother’sglancesforamoment,thelightplayingonthegoldenliquid,notreachingtheirfacesoreyes.
