Атлант расправил плечи

           Shemetadirectglanceandsawanopen,eagersmile,asifheweresharingaconfidencewithafriend. Shelikedhisface—itslinesweretightandfirm,itdidnothavethatlookofloosemusclesevadingtheresponsibilityofashape,whichshehadlearnedtoexpectinpeople’sfaces. 

           "It’stheHalleyConcerto,"heanswered,smiling. 

           "Whichone?" 

           "TheFifth." 

           Sheletamomentpass,beforeshesaidslowlyandverycarefully, "RichardHalleywroteonlyfourconcertos." 

           Theboy’ssmilevanished. Itwasasifhewerejoltedbacktoreality,justasshehadbeenafewmomentsago. Itwasasifashutterwereslammeddown,andwhatremainedwasafacewithoutexpression,impersonal,indifferentandempty. 

           "Yes,ofcourse,"hesaid."I’mwrong.Imadeamistake." 

           "Thenwhatwasit?" 

           "SomethingIheardsomewhere." 

           "What?" 

           "Idon’tknow." 

           "Wheredidyouhearit?" 

           "Idon’tremember." 

           Shepausedhelplessly;hewasturningawayfromherwithoutfurtherinterest. 

           "ItsoundedlikeaHalleytheme,"shesaid. "ButIknoweverynotehe’severwrittenandheneverwrotethat." 

           Therewasstillnoexpression,onlyafaintlookofattentivenessontheboy’sface,asheturnedbacktoherandasked, "YoulikethemusicofRichardHalley?" 

           "Yes,"shesaid,"Ilikeitverymuch." 

           Heconsideredherforamoment,asifhesitating,thenheturnedaway.Shewatchedtheexpertefficiencyofhismovementsashewentonworking. Heworkedinsilence.