Атлант расправил плечи

           Theboy’sheaddroppedonRearden’sshoulder,hesitantly,almostasifthiswereapresumption.Reardenbentdownandpressedhislipstothedust-streakedforehead.

           Theboyjerkedback,raisinghisheadwithashockofincredulous,indignantastonishment."Doyouknowwhatyoudid?"hewhispered,asifunabletobelievethatitwasmeantforhim.

           "Putyourheaddown,"saidRearden,"andI’lldoitagain."

           Theboy’sheaddroppedandReardenkissedhisforehead;itwaslikeafather’srecognitiongrantedtoason’sbattle.

           Theboylaystill,hisfacehidden,hishandsclutchingRearden’sshoulders.Then,withnohintofsound,withonlythesuddenbeatoffaint,spaced,rhythmicshudderstoshowit,Reardenknewthattheboywascrying—cryinginsurrender,inadmissionofallthethingswhichhecouldnotputintothewordshehadneverfound.

           Reardenwentonmovingslowlyupward,stepbygropingstep,fightingforfirmnessofmotionagainsttheweeds,thedriftsofdust,thechunksofscrapmetal,therefuseofadistantage.Hewenton,towardthelinewheretheredglowofhismillsmarkedtheedgeofthepitabovehim,hismovementafiercestrugglethathadtotaketheformofagentle,unhurriedflow.

           Heheardnosobs,buthefelttherhythmicshudders,and,throughtheclothofhisshirt,inplaceoftears,hefeltthesmall,warm,liquidspurtsflungfromthewoundbytheshudders.