Атлант расправил плечи

           Herefilledhisglassanddrainedit,buthisgaietyvanishedabruptly.

           Heslumpedintoanarmchair,facingher,lookingupatherfromunderhisbaldforehead,hiseyesblurred.

           "She’scomingbacktomorrow,"hesaid,withasoundlikeachuckledevoidofamusement.

           "Who?"

           "Mysister.Mydearsister.Oh,she’llthinkshe’sgreat,won’tshe?"

           "Youdislikeyoursister,Mr.Taggart?"Hemadethesamesound;itsmeaningwassoeloquentthatsheneedednootheranswer."Why?"sheasked.

           "Becauseshethinksshe’ssogood.Whatrighthasshetothinkit?

           Whatrighthasanybodytothinkhe’sgood?Nobody’sanygood."

           "Youdon’tmeanit,Mr.Taggart."

           "Imean,we’reonlyhumanbeings—andwhat’sahumanbeing?Aweak,ugly,sinfulcreature,bornthatway,rotteninhisbones—sohumilityistheonevirtueheoughttopractice.Heoughttospendhislifeonhisknees,beggingtobeforgivenforhisdirtyexistence.Whenamanthinkshe’sgood—that’swhenhe’srotten.Prideistheworstofallsins,nomatterwhathe’sdone."

           "Butifamanknowsthatwhathe’sdoneisgood?"

           "Thenheoughttoapologizeforit."

           "Towhom?"

           "Tothosewhohaven’tdoneit."

           "I...Idon’tunderstand.