Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
Thewayhepressedhismouthtoitwastenderness,butthewayhisfingershelditwasdespair.
Hedroppedbackonthepillowandlaystill,hiseyesclosed.Hisfaceseemedyoung,atpeace.Seeingitforamomentwithoutthereinsoftension,sherealizedsuddenlytheextentoftheunhappinesshehadborne;butit’spastnow,shethought,it’sover.
Hegotup,notlookingather.Hisfacewasblankandclosedagain.
Hepickeduphisclothesfromthefloorandproceededtodress,standinginthemiddleoftheroom,half-turnedawayfromher.Heacted,notasifshewasn’tpresent,butasifitdidnotmatterthatshewas.Hismovements,ashebuttonedhisshirt,ashebuckledthebeltofhisslacks,hadtherapidprecisionofperformingaduty.
Shelaybackonthepillow,watchinghim,enjoyingthesightofhisfigureinmotion.Shelikedthegrayslacksandshirt—theexpertmechanicoftheJohnGaltLine,shethought,inthestripesofsunlightandshadow,likeaconvictbehindbars.
