Атлант расправил плечи

           Shewastwenty-fouronthatdayofspringwhenthetelephonerangonherdesk,inanofficeoftheTaggartBuilding."Dagny,"saidavoicesherecognizedatonce,"I’mattheWayne-Falkland.Cometohavedinnerwithmetonight.Atseven."Hesaiditwithoutgreeting,asiftheyhadpartedthedaybefore.Becauseittookheramomenttoregaintheartofbreathing,sherealizedforthefirsttimehowmuchthatvoicemeanttoher."Allright...Francisco,"sheanswered.Theyneededtosaynothingelse.Shethought,replacingthereceiver,thathisreturnwasnaturalandasshehadalwaysexpectedittohappen,exceptthatshehadnotexpectedhersuddenneedtopronouncehisnameorthestabofhappinessshefeltwhilepronouncingit.

           Whensheenteredhishotelroom,thatevening,shestoppedshort.Hestoodinthemiddleoftheroom,lookingather—andshesawasmilethatcameslowly,involuntarily,asifhehadlosttheabilitytosmileandwereastonishedthatheshouldregainit.Helookedatherincredulously,notquitebelievingwhatshewasorwhathefelt.Hisglancewaslikeaplea,likethecryforhelpofamanwhocouldnevercry.Atherentrance,hehadstartedtheiroldsalute,hehadstartedtosay,"Hi—"buthedidnotfinishit.Instead,afteramoment,hesaid,"You’rebeautiful,Dagny."Hesaiditasifithurthim.

           "Francisco,I—"

           Heshookhishead,nottoletherpronouncethewordstheyhadneversaidtoeachother—eventhoughtheyknewthatbothhadsaidandheardtheminthatmoment.