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He
gave
no
explanation
.
He
merely
told
his
publishers
that
his
career
was
over
.
He
sold
them
the
rights
to
his
works
for
a
modest
sum
,
even
though
he
knew
that
his
royalties
would
now
bring
him
a
fortune
.
He
went
away
,
leaving
no
address
.
It
was
eight
years
ago
;
no
one
had
seen
him
since
.
Dagny
listened
to
the
Fourth
Concerto
,
her
head
thrown
back
,
her
eyes
closed
.
She
lay
half
-
stretched
across
the
corner
of
a
couch
,
her
body
relaxed
and
still
;
but
tension
stressed
the
shape
of
her
mouth
on
her
motionless
face
,
a
sensual
shape
drawn
in
lines
of
longing
.
After
a
while
,
she
opened
her
eyes
.
She
noticed
the
newspaper
she
had
thrown
down
on
the
couch
.
She
reached
for
it
absently
,
to
turn
the
vapid
headlines
out
of
sight
.
The
paper
fell
open
.
She
saw
the
photograph
of
a
face
she
knew
,
and
the
heading
of
a
story
.
She
slammed
the
pages
shut
and
flung
them
aside
.
It
was
the
face
of
Francisco
d
‘
Anconia
.
The
heading
said
that
he
had
arrived
in
New
York
.
What
of
it
?
—
she
thought
.
She
would
not
have
to
see
him
.
She
had
not
seen
him
for
years
.
She
sat
looking
down
at
the
newspaper
on
the
floor
.
Don
’
t
read
it
,
she
thought
;
don
’
t
look
at
it
.
But
the
face
,
she
thought
,
had
not
changed
.
How
could
a
face
remain
the
same
when
everything
else
was
gone
?
She
wished
they
had
not
caught
a
picture
of
him
when
he
smiled
.
That
kind
of
smile
did
not
belong
in
the
pages
of
a
newspaper
.
It
was
the
smile
of
a
man
who
is
able
to
see
,
to
know
and
to
create
the
glory
of
existence
.
It
was
the
mocking
,
challenging
smile
of
a
brilliant
intelligence
.
Don
’
t
read
it
,
she
thought
;
not
now
—
not
to
that
music
—
oh
,
not
to
that
music
!
She
reached
for
the
paper
and
opened
it
.
The
story
said
that
Señor
Francisco
d
‘
Anconia
had
granted
an
interview
to
the
press
in
his
suite
at
the
Wayne
-
Falkland
Hotel
.
He
said
that
he
had
come
to
New
York
for
two
important
reasons
:
a
hat
-
check
girl
at
the
Cub
Club
,
and
the
liverwurst
at
Moe
’
s
Delicatessen
on
Third
Avenue
.
He
had
nothing
to
say
about
the
coming
divorce
trial
of
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Gilbert
Vail
.
Mrs
.
Vail
,
a
lady
of
noble
breeding
and
unusual
loveliness
,
had
taken
a
shot
at
her
distinguished
young
husband
,
some
months
ago
,
publicly
declaring
that
she
wished
to
get
rid
of
him
for
the
sake
of
her
lover
,
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
.
She
had
given
to
the
press
a
detailed
account
of
her
secret
romance
,
including
a
description
of
the
night
of
last
New
Year
’
s
Eve
which
she
had
spent
at
d
‘
Anconia
’
s
villa
in
the
Andes
.
Her
husband
had
survived
the
shot
and
had
sued
for
divorce
.
She
had
countered
with
a
suit
for
half
of
her
husband
’
s
millions
,
and
with
a
recital
of
his
private
life
which
,
she
said
,
made
hers
look
innocent
.
All
of
that
had
been
splashed
over
the
newspapers
for
weeks
.
But
Señor
d
’
Anconia
had
nothing
to
say
about
it
,
when
the
reporters
questioned
him
.
Would
he
deny
Mrs
.
Vail
’
s
story
,
they
asked
.
"
I
never
deny
anything
,
"
he
answered
.
The
reporters
had
been
astonished
by
his
sudden
arrival
in
town
;
they
had
thought
that
he
would
not
wish
to
be
there
just
when
the
worst
of
the
scandal
was
about
to
explode
on
the
front
pages
.
But
they
had
been
wrong
.
Francisco
d
‘
Anconia
added
one
more
comment
to
the
reasons
for
his
arrival
.
"
I
wanted
to
witness
the
farce
,
"
he
said
.
Dagny
let
the
paper
slip
to
the
floor
.
She
sat
,
bent
over
,
her
head
on
her
arms
.
She
did
not
move
,
but
the
strands
of
hair
,
hanging
down
to
her
knees
,
trembled
in
sudden
jolts
once
in
a
while
.
