“This is John Galt speaking”

           Thedoorbellwasringinglikeanalarm,inalong,demandingscream,brokenbytheimpatientstabsofsomeone’sfranticfinger.

           Leapingoutofbed,Dagnynoticedthecold,palesunlightoflatemorningandaclockonadistantspiremarkingthehouroften.ShehadworkedattheofficetillfourA.M.andhadleftwordnottoexpecthertillnoon.

           Thewhitefaceungroomedbypanic,thatconfrontedherwhenshethrewthedooropen,wasJamesTaggart.

           "He’sgone!"hecried.

           "Who?"

           "HankRearden!He’sgone,quit,vanished,disappeared!"

           Shestoodstillforamoment,holdingthebeltofthedressinggownshehadbeentying;then,asthefullknowledgereachedher,herhandsjerkedthebelttight—asifsnappingherbodyintwoatthewaistline—whilesheburstoutlaughing.Itwasasoundoftriumph.

           Hestaredatherinbewilderment."What’sthematterwithyou?"hegasped."Haven’tyouunderstood?"

           "Comein,Jim,"shesaid,turningcontemptuously,walkingintothelivingroom."Ohyes,I’veunderstood.