Атлант расправил плечи
The Climax of the d’Anconias
Shefeltanarrogantpleasureinseeingtheskillofhismovements,becausethiswasthethingwhichshewouldbeat,sothathiseveryexpertgesturebecamehervictory,andthebrilliantcompetenceofhisbodybecamethetriumphofhers.
Shefelttherisingpainofexhaustion—notknowingthatitwaspain,feelingitonlyinsuddenstabsthatmadeherawareofsomepartofherbodyforaninstant,tobeforgotteninthenext:herarmsocket—hershoulderblades—herhips,withthewhiteshortsstickingtoherskin-themusclesofherlegs,whensheleapedtomeettheball,butdidnotrememberwhethershecamedowntotouchthegroundagain—hereyelids,whentheskywentdarkredandtheballcameatherthroughthedarknesslikeawhirlingwhitename—thethin,hotwirethatshotfromherankle,upherback,andwentonshootingstraightacrosstheair,drivingtheballatFrancisco’sfigure....Shefeltanexultantpleasure—becauseeverystabofpainbeguninherbodyhadtoendinhis,becausehewasbeingexhaustedasshewas—whatshedidtoherself,shewasdoingitalsotohim—thiswaswhathefelt—thiswaswhatshedrovehimto—itwasnotherpainthatshefeltorherbody,buthis.
Inthemomentswhenshesawhisface,shesawthathewaslaughing.Hewaslookingatherasifheunderstood.
