Атлант расправил плечи

           Thewomanlookedatherforthebriefestinstantofapause;itwasanoddglance,inquiringandgrave."MayIaskyourname?"

           "IamDagnyTaggart,ofTaggartTranscontinental."

           "Oh.Pleasecomein,MissTaggart.IamMrs.WilliamHastings."

           Themeasuredtoneofgravitywentthrougheverysyllableofhervoice,likeawarning.Hermannerwascourteous,butshedidnotsmile.

           Itwasamodesthomeinthesuburbsofanindustrialtown.Baretreebranchescutacrossthebright,coldblueofthesky,onthetopoftherisethatledtothehouse.Thewallsofthelivingroomweresilver-gray;sunlighthitthecrystalstandofalampwithawhiteshade;beyondanopendoor,abreakfastnookwaspaperedinred-dottedwhite.

           "Wereyouacquaintedwithmyhusbandinbusiness,MissTaggart?"

           "No.IhavenevermetMr.Hastings.ButIshouldliketospeaktohimonamatterofbusinessofcrucialimportance."

           "Myhusbanddiedfiveyearsago,MissTaggart."

           Dagnyclosedhereyes;thedull,sinkingshockcontainedtheconclusionsshedidnothavetomakeinwords:This,then,hadbeenthemanshewasseeking,andReardenhadbeenright;thiswaswhythemotorhadbeenleftunclaimedonajunkpile.

           "I’msorry,"shesaid,bothtoMrs.Hastingsandtoherself.

           ThesuggestionofasmileonMrs.