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           "

           "Whynot?"

           "Don’taskme.It’s...apersonalmatter."

           ThevisionofFranciscoinRearden’smind,whichhehadresentedandfoundirresistiblyattractive,hadbeenthefigureofamanradiantlyincapableofsuffering.WhathesawnowinFrancisco’seyeswasthelookofaquiet,tightlycontrolled,patientlybornetorture.

           Franciscoreachedsilentlyforhisovercoat.

           "You’renotleaving,areyou?"askedRearden.

           "Yes."

           "Aren’tyougoingtofinishwhatyouhadtotellme?"

           "Nottonight."

           "Youwantedmetoansweraquestion.Whatwasit?"

           Franciscoshookhishead.

           "YoustartedaskingmehowcanI...HowcanI—what?"

           Francisco’ssmilewaslikeamoanofpain,theonlymoanhewouldpermithimself."Iwon’taskit,Mr.Rearden.Iknowit."