Атлант расправил плечи

           Whatwoulditmean,myforgiveness?"

           "Uh?"

           "Isaid,whatwoulditmean?"

           .Shespreadherhandsoutinanastonishedgesturetoindicatetheself-evident."Why,it...itwouldmakeusfeelbetter."

           "Willitchangethepast?"

           "Itwouldmakeusfeelbettertoknowthatyou’veforgivenit."

           "Doyouwishmetopretendthatthepasthasnotexisted?"

           "OhGod,Henry,can’tyousee?Allwewantisonlytoknowthatyou...thatyoufeelsomeconcernforus."

           "Idon’tfeelit.Doyouwishmetofakeit?"

           "Butthat’swhatI’mbeggingyoufor—tofeelit!"

           "Onwhatground?"

           "Ground?"

           "Inexchangeforwhat?"

           "Henry,Henry,it’snotbusinesswe’retalkingabout,notsteeltonnagesandbankbalances,it’sfeelings—andyoutalklikeatrader!"

           "Iamone."

           Whathesawinhereyeswasterror—notthehelplessterrorofstrugglingandfailingtounderstand,buttheterrorofbeingpushedtowardtheedgewheretoavoidunderstandingwouldnolongerbepossible.

           "Look,Henry,"saidPhiliphastily,"Mothercan’tunderstandthosethings.Wedon’tknowhowtoapproachyou.Wecan’tspeakyourlanguage."

           "Idon’tspeakyours.