Атлант расправил плечи
The Non-commercial
"Thisiswhenoneshouldappreciatethemeaningofbeingaman."
Reardendidnotanswerforamoment;thenhesaid,asifinanswertohimself,atoneofwonderinhisvoice,"Funny..."
"What?"
"YoutoldmewhatIwasthinkingjustawhileago..."
"Youwere?"
"...onlyIdidn’thavethewordsforit."
"ShallItellyoutherestofthewords?"
"Goahead."
"Youstoodhereandwatchedthestormwiththegreatestprideonecaneverfeel—becauseyouareabletohavesummerflowersandhalf-nakedwomeninyourhouseonanightlikethis,indemonstrationofyourvictoryoverthatstorm.Andifitweren’tforyou,mostofthosewhoareherewouldbelefthelplessatthemercyofthatwindinthemiddleofsomesuchplain."
"Howdidyouknowthat?"
Intimewithhisquestion,Reardenrealizedthatitwasnothisthoughtsthismanhadnamed,buthismosthidden,mostpersonalemotion;andthathe,whowouldneverconfesshisemotionstoanyone,hadconfesseditinhisquestion.HesawthefaintestflickerinFrancisco’seyes,asofasmileoracheckmark.
"Whatwouldyouknowaboutaprideofthatkind?"Reardenaskedsharply,asifthecontemptofthesecondquestioncoulderasetheconfidenceofthefirst.
"ThatiswhatIfeltonce,whenIwasyoung."
Reardenlookedathim.Therewasneithermockerynorself-pityinFrancisco’sface;thefine,sculpturedplanesandtheclear,blueeyesheldaquietcomposure,thefacewasopen,offeredtoanyblow,unflinching.
