Атлант расправил плечи

           Shefoundtheclean,brilliantsenseoflifeasshewantedit—inherwork.Once,Franciscohadgivenherthesamesense,afeelingthatbelongedwithherworkandinherworld.Themenshehadmetsincewerelikethemenshemetatherfirstball.

           Shehadwonthebattleagainsthermemories.Butoneformoftortureremained,untouchedbytheyears,thetortureoftheword"why?"

           Whateverthetragedyhemet,whyhadFranciscotakentheugliestwayofescape,asignobleasthewayofsomecheapalcoholic?Theboyshehadknowncouldnothavebecomeauselesscoward.Anincomparablemindcouldnotturnitsingenuitytotheinventionofmeltingballrooms.Yethehadanddid,andtherewasnoexplanationtomakeitconceivableandtoletherforgethiminpeace.Shecouldnotdoubtthefactofwhathehadbeen;shecouldnotdoubtthefactofwhathehadbecome;yetonemadetheotherimpossible.Attimes,shealmostdoubtedherownrationalityortheexistenceofanyrationalityanywhere;butthiswasadoubtwhichshedidnotpermittoanyone.Yettherewasnoexplanation,noreason,nocluetoanyconceivablereason-andinallthedaysoftenyearsshehadfoundnohintofananswer.

           No,shethought—asshewalkedthroughthegraytwilight,pastthewindowsofabandonedshops,totheWayne-FalklandHotel—no,therecouldbenoanswer.Shewouldnotseekit.Itdidnotmatternow.