Атлант расправил плечи
The Aristocracy of pull
Franciscostoodcorneredagainstthesideedgeofamarblestairway,half-leaning,half-sittingonthesteps;theinformalityofhisposture,combinedwiththestrictformalityofhisclothes,gavehimanairofsuperlativeelegance.Hiswastheonlyfacethathadthecarefreelookandthebrilliantsmilepropertotheenjoymentofaparty;buthiseyesseemedintentionallyexpressionless,holdingnotraceofgaiety,showing—likeawarningsignal—nothingbuttheactivityofaheightenedperceptiveness.
Standingunnoticedontheedgeofthegroup,Reardenheardawoman,whohadlargediamondearringsandaflabby,nervousface,asktensely,"Seniord’Anconia,whatdoyouthinkisgoingtohappentotheworld?"
"Justexactlywhatitdeserves."
"Oh,howcruel!"
"Don’tyoubelieveintheoperationofthemorallaw,madame?"Franciscoaskedgravely."Ido."
ReardenheardBertramScudder,outsidethegroup,saytoagirlwhomadesomesoundofindignation,"Don’tlethimdisturbyou.Youknow,moneyistherootofallevil—andhe’sthetypicalproductofmoney."
ReardendidnotthinkthatFranciscocouldhaveheardit,buthesawFranciscoturningtothemwithagravelycourteoussmile.
"Soyouthinkthatmoneyistherootofallevil?"saidFranciscod’Anconia.
