Атлант расправил плечи
The Aristocracy of pull
Hewouldleavethelightoninherlivingroom,hethought,andholdheracrossthebed,andseenothingbutthecurveofthestripoflightrunningfromherwaisttoherankle,asinglelinedrawingthewholeshapeofherlong,slimbodyinthedarkness,thenhewouldpullherheadintothelight,toseeherface,toseeitfallingback,unresisting,herhairoverhisarm,hereyesclosed,thefacedrawnasinalookofpain,hermouthopentohim.
Hestoodatthewall,waiting,toletalltheeventsofthedaydropawayfromhim,tofeelfree,toknowthatthenextspanoftimewashis.
Whenthedoorofhisroomflewopenwithoutwarning,hedidnotquitehearorbelieveit,atfirst.Hesawthesilhouetteofawoman,thenofabellboywhoputdownasuitcaseandvanished.ThevoiceheheardwasLillian’s:"Why,Henry!Allaloneandinthedark?"
Shepressedalightswitchbythedoor.Shestoodthere,fastidiouslygroomed,wearingapalebeigetravelingsuitthatlookedasifshehadtraveledunderglass;shewassmilingandpullingherglovesoffwiththeairofhavingreachedhome.
"Areyouinfortheevening,dear?"sheasked."Orwereyougoingout?"
Hedidnotknowhowlongatimepassedbeforeheanswered,"Whatareyoudoinghere?"
"Why,don’tyourememberthatJimTaggartinvitedustohiswedding?It’stonight."
"Ididn’tintendtogotohiswedding.
