Атлант расправил плечи
The Aristocracy of pull
This,then—hethought—wasthehappinessoffemininevanitywhichshehadbeggedhimtogiveher,thesewerethestandardswhichhedidnotliveby,buthadtoconsider.Heturnedforescapetoagroupofmen.
Hecouldnotfindasinglestraightstatementintheconversationofthemen;whateversubjecttheyseemedtobetalkingaboutneverseemedtobethesubjecttheywereactuallydiscussing.Helistenedlikeaforeignerwhorecognizedsomeofthewords,butcouldnotconnectthemintosentences.Ayoungman,withalookofalcoholicinsolence,staggeredpastthegroupandsnapped,chuckling,"Learnedyourlesson,Rearden?"Hedidnotknowwhattheyoungrathadmeant;everybodyelseseemedtoknowit;theylookedshockedandsecretlypleased.
Lilliandriftedawayfromhim,asiflettinghimunderstandthatshedidnotinsistuponhisliteralattendance.Heretreatedtoacorneroftheroomwherenoonewouldseehimornoticethedirectionofhiseyes.ThenhepermittedhimselftolookatDagny.
Hewatchedthegraydress,theshiftingmovementofthesoftclothwhenshewalked,themomentarypausessculpturedbythecloth,theshadowsandthelight.Hesawitasabluish-graysmokeheldshapedforaninstantintoalongcurvethatslantedforwardtoherkneeandbacktothetipofhersandal.Hekneweveryfacetthelightwouldshapeifthesmokewererippedaway.
Hefeltamurky,twistingpain:itwasjealousyofeverymanwhospoketoher.
