Атлант расправил плечи
The Non-commercial
Inthelighteddoorway,thelengthoftheroombetweenthem,hesawthetall,arrogantfigureofamanwhohadpausedforamomentbeforeentering.Hehadnevermettheman,butofallthenotoriousfacesthatclutteredthepagesofnewspapers,thiswastheonehedespised.ItwasFranciscod‘Anconia.
ReardenhadnevergivenmuchthoughttomenlikeBertramScudder.Butwitheveryhourofhislife,withthestrainandtheprideofeverymomentwhenhismusclesorhismindhadachedfromeffort,witheverystephehadtakentoriseoutoftheminesofMinnesotaandtoturnhiseffortintogold,withallofhisprofoundrespectformoneyandforitsmeaning,hedespisedthesquandererwhodidnotknowhowtodeservethegreatgiftofinheritedwealth.There,hethought,wasthemostcontemptiblerepresentativeofthespecies.
HesawFranciscod‘Anconiaenter,bowtoLillian,thenwalkintothecrowdasifheownedtheroomwhichhehadneverenteredbefore.Headsturnedtowatchhim,asifhepulledthemonstringsinhiswake.
ApproachingLillianoncemore,Reardensaidwithoutanger,thecontemptbecomingamusementinhisvoice,"Ididn’tknowyouknewthatone."
"I’vemethimatafewparties."
"Isheoneofyourfriends,too?"
"Certainlynot!"Thesharpresentmentwasgenuine.
"Thenwhydidyouinvitehim?"
"Well,youcan’tgiveaparty—notapartythatcounts—whilehe’sinthiscountry,withoutinvitinghim.It’sanuisanceifhecomes,andasocialblackmarkifhedoesn’t."
Reardenlaughed.
