Атлант расправил плечи

           Themanstandingonthethreshold,withdisheveledhair,asoot-streakedfaceandfurnace-smudgedarms,dressedinscorchedoverallsandbloodstainedshirt,standingasifheworeacapewavingbehindhiminthewind,wasFranciscod’Anconia.

           ItseemedtoReardenthathisconsciousnessshotforwardaheadofhisbody,itwashisbodythatrefusedtomove,stunnedbyshock,whilehismindwaslaughing,tellinghimthatthiswasthemostnatural,themost-to-have-been-expectedeventintheworld.

           Franciscosmiled,asmileofgreetingtoachildhoodfriendonasummermorning,asifnothingelsehadeverbeenpossiblebetweenthem—andReardenfoundhimselfsmilinginanswer,somepartofhimfeelinganincredulouswonder,yetknowingthatitwasirresistiblyright.

           "You’vebeentorturingyourselfformonths,"saidFrancisco,approachinghim,"wonderingwhatwordsyou’dusetoaskmyforgivenessandwhetheryouhadtherighttoaskit,ifyoueversawmeagain—butnowyouseethatitisn’tnecessary,thatthere’snothingtoaskortoforgive."

           "Yes,"saidRearden,thewordcomingasanastonishedwhisper,butbythetimehefinishedhissentenceheknewthatthiswasthegreatesttributehecouldoffer,"yes,Iknowit."

           Franciscosatdownonthecouchbesidehim,andslowlymovedhishandoverRearden’sforehead.Itwaslikeahealingtouchthatclosedthepast.

           "There’sonlyonethingIwanttotellyou,"saidRearden.