Атлант расправил плечи

           Theyhithisconsciousnesstogether:thebreakfasttable—thedoortohisbedroom,openuponthesightofabedthathadbeensleptin—andLillian’svoicesaying,"Goodmorning,Henry."

           Shesatinanarmchair,wearingthesuitshehadwornyesterday,withoutthejacketorhat;herwhiteblouselookedsmuglycrisp.Therewereremnantsofabreakfastonthetable.Shewassmokingacigarette,withtheairandposeofalong,patientvigil.

           Ashestoodstill,shetookthetimetocrossherlegsandsettledownmorecomfortably,thenasked,"Aren’tyougoingtosayanything,Henry?"

           Hestoodlikeamaninmilitaryuniformatsomeofficialproceedingswhereemotionscouldnotbepermittedtoexist."Itisforyoutospeak."

           "Aren’tyougoingtotrytojustifyyourself?"

           "No."

           "Aren’tyougoingtostartbeggingmyforgiveness?"

           "Thereisnoreasonwhyyoushouldforgiveme.Thereisnothingformetoadd.Youknowthetruth.Nowitisuptoyou."

           Shechuckled,stretching,rubbinghershoulderbladesagainstthechair’sback."Didn’tyouexpecttobecaught,soonerorlater?"sheasked."Ifamanlikeyoustayspureasamonkforoverayear,didn’tyouthinkthatImightbegintosuspectthereason?It’sfunny,though,thatthatfamousbrainofyoursdidn’tpreventyoufromgettingcaughtassimplyasthis."Shewavedattheroom,atthebreakfasttable.