Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
Theirfaceshadalookoffearandcunning,thelookofthatblackmail-through-virtuewhichhehadlearnedtounderstand,asiftheyhopedtogetawaywithitbymeansofnothingbuthispity,toholdhimtrapped,whenasinglestepbackcouldtakehimoutoftheirreach.
Theyhadcountedonhispityanddreadedhisanger;theyhadnotdaredconsiderthethirdalternative;hisindifference.
"Whatisshedoinghere?"heasked,turningtohismother,hisvoicedispassionatelyflat.
"Lillian’sbeenlivinghereeversinceyourdivorce,"sheanswereddefensively."Icouldn’tletherstarveonthecitypavements,couldI?"
Thelookinhismother’seyeswashalf-plea,asifshewerebegginghimnottoslapherface,half-triumph,asifshehadslappedhis.Heknewhermotive:itwasnotcompassion,therehadneverbeenmuchlovebetweenLillianandher,itwastheircommonrevengeagainsthim,itwasthesecretsatisfactionofspendinghismoneyontheex-wifehehadrefusedtosupport.
Lillian’sheadwaspoisedtobowingreeting,withthetentativehintofasmileonherlips,half-timid,half-brash.Hedidnotpretendtoignoreher;helookedather,asifhewereseeingherfully,yetasifnopresencewerebeingregisteredinhismind.Hesaidnothing,closedthedoorandsteppedintotheroom.
