Атлант расправил плечи

           Therewereglaringlightsinside,afewtiredsalesgirlsamongaspreadofdesertedcounters,andthescreamingofaphonographrecordbeingplayedforalone,listlesscustomerinacorner.ThemusicswallowedthesharpedgesofTaggart’svoice:heaskedforpapertissuesinatonewhichimpliedthatthesalesgirlwasresponsibleforhiscold.Thegirlturnedtothecounterbehindher,butturnedbackoncetoglanceswiftlyathisface.Shetookapacket,butstopped,hesitating,studyinghimwithpeculiarcuriosity.

           "AreyouJamesTaggart?"sheasked.

           "Yes!"hesnapped."Why?"

           "Oh!"

           Shegaspedlikeachildataburstoffirecrackers;shewaslookingathimwithaglancewhichhehadthoughttobereservedonlyformoviestars.

           "Isawyourpictureinthepaperthismorning,Mr.Taggart,"shesaidveryrapidly,afaintflushappearingonherfaceandvanishing."Itsaidwhatagreatachievementitwasandhowitwasreallyyouwhohaddoneitall,onlyyoudidn’twantittobeknown."

           "Oh,"saidTaggart.Hewassmiling.

           "Youlookjustlikeyourpicture,"shesaidinimmenseastonishment,andadded,"Imagineyouwalkinginherelikethis,inperson!"

           "Shouldn’tI?"Histonewasamused.

           "Imean,everybody’stalkingaboutit,thewholecountry,andyou’rethemanwhodidit—andhereyouare!I’veneverseenanimportantpersonbefore.