Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
Eachnight,itwasasifshelayinthearmsofastrangerwholetherseeeveryshudderofsensationthatranthroughhisbody,butwouldneverpermithertoknowwhethertheshocksreachedanyansweringtremorwithinhim.Shelaynakedathisside,butonherwristtherewasthebraceletofReardenMetal.
Sheknewthathehatedtheordealofsigningthe"Mr.andMrs.Smith"ontheregistersofsqualidroadsidehotels.Therewereeveningswhenshenoticedthefaintcontractionofangerinthetightnessofhismouth,ashesignedtheexpectednamesoftheexpectedfraud,angeratthosewhomadefraudnecessary.Shenoticed,indifferently,theairofknowingslynessinthemannerofthehotelclerks,whichseemedtosuggestthatguestsandclerksalikewereaccomplicesinashamefulguilt:theguiltofseekingpleasure.Butsheknewthatitdidnotmattertohimwhentheywerealone,whenheheldheragainsthimforamomentandshesawhiseyeslookaliveandguiltless.
Theydrovethroughsmalltowns,throughobscuresideroads,throughthekindofplacestheyhadnotseenforyears.Shefeltuneasinessatthesightofthetowns.Dayspassedbeforesherealizedwhatitwasthatshemissedmost:aglimpseoffreshpaint.Thehousesstoodlikemeninunpressedsuits,whohadlostthedesiretostandstraight:thecorniceswerelikesaggingshoulders,thecrookedporchstepsliketornhemlines,thebrokenwindowslikepatches,mendedwithclapboard.
