Атлант расправил плечи

           Hewasplaying,nottowin,buttomakeitharderforher—sendinghisshotswildtomakeherrun—losingpointstoseehertwistherbodyinanagonizingbackhand—standingstill,lettingherthinkhewouldmiss,onlytolethisarmshootoutcasuallyatthelastmomentandsendtheballbackwithsuchforcethatsheknewshewouldmissit.Shefeltasifshecouldnotmoveagain,notever—anditwasstrangetofindherselflandingsuddenlyattheothersideofthecourt,smashingtheballintime,smashingitasifshewishedittobursttopieces,asifshewisheditwereFrancisco’sface.

           Justoncemore,shethought,evenifthenextonewouldcrackthebonesofherarm...Justoncemore,eveniftheairwhichsheforceddowningaspspasthertight,swollenthroat,wouldbestoppedaltogether...Thenshefeltnothing,nopain,nomuscles,onlythethoughtthatshehadtobeathim,toseehimexhausted,toseehimcollapse,andthenshewouldbefreetodieinthenextmoment.

           Shewon.Perhapsitwashislaughingthatmadehimlose,foronce.Hewalkedtothenet,whileshestoodstill,andthrewhisracketacross,atherfeet,asifknowingthatthiswaswhatshewanted.Hewalkedoutofthecourtandfelldownonthegrassofthelawn,collapsing,hisheadonhisarm.

           Sheapproachedhimslowly.Shestoodoverhim,lookingdownathisbodystretchedatherfeet,lookingathissweat-drenchedshirtandthestrandsofhishairspilledacrosshisarm.Heraisedhishead.Hisglancemovedslowlyupthelineofherlegs,tohershorts,toherblouse,tohereyes.