Атлант расправил плечи

           Shefeltasifshewereinexile,nevertoreturn,asifshewereseparatedfromthebuildingbymuchmorethanasheetofglass,acurtainofrainandthespanofafewmonths.

           Shestood,inaroomofcrumblingplaster,pressedtothewindowpane,lookingupattheunattainableformofeverythingsheloved.Shedidnotknowthenatureofherloneliness.Theonlywordsthatnameditwere:ThisisnottheworldIexpected.

           Once,whenshewassixteen,lookingatalongstretchofTaggarttrack,attherailsthatconverged—likethelinesofaskyscraper—toasinglepointinthedistance,shehadtoldEddieWillersthatshehadalwaysfeltasiftherailswereheldinthehandofamanbeyondthehorizon—no,notherfatheroranyofthemenintheoffice—andsomedayshewouldmeethim.

           Sheshookherheadandturnedawayfromthewindow.

           Shewentbacktoherdesk.Shetriedtoreachforthereports.Butsuddenlyshewasslumpedacrossthedesk,herheadonherarm.Don’t,shethought;butshedidnotmovetorise,itmadenodifference,therewasnoonetoseeher.

           Thiswasalongingshehadneverpermittedherselftoacknowledge.

           Shefaceditnow.Shethought:Ifemotionisone’sresponsetothethingstheworldhastooffer,ifshelovedtherails,thebuilding,andmore:ifshelovedherloveforthem—therewasstilloneresponse,thegreatest,thatshehadmissed.