Атлант расправил плечи
The Aristocracy of pull
"
Hesawherlookofsuddenattentiveness,thelookofthoughtrushingintoabreachtornopenuponanewdirection.Hewatchedherforamoment,asifhekneweverystepshewouldfindalongthatroad,thenchuckledandsaid,"Don’tyouwanttoaskmenow:WhoisJohnGalt?"
"WhyshouldIwantto,andwhynow?"
"Don’tyourememberthatyoudaredhimtocomeandclaimyourLine?Well,hehas."
Hewalkedon,notwaitingtoseethelookinhereyes—alookthatheldanger,bewildermentandthefirstfaintgleamofaquestionmark.
ItwasthemusclesofhisownfacethatmadeReardenrealizethenatureofhisreactiontoFrancisco’sarrivaclass="underline"henoticedsuddenlythathewassmilingandthathisfacehadbeenrelaxedintothedimwellbeingofasmileforsomeminutespast,ashewatchedFranciscod’Anconiainthecrowd.
Heacknowledgedtohimself,forthefirsttime,allthehalf-grasped,half-rejectedmomentswhenhehadthoughtofFranciscod’Anconiaandthrustthethoughtasidebeforeitbecametheknowledgeofhowmuchhewantedtoseehimagain.Inmomentsofsuddenexhaustion—athisdesk,withthefiresofthefurnacesgoingdowninthetwilight—inthedarknessofthelonelywalkthroughtheemptycountrysidetohishouse—inthesilenceofsleeplessnights—hehadfoundhimselfthinkingoftheonlymanwhohadonceseemedtobehisspokesman.
