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"
Miss
Taggart
,
"
said
Bertram
Scudder
nervously
,
"
aren
’
t
we
departing
from
the
subject
of
.
.
.
After
all
,
your
personal
relationship
with
Mr
.
Rearden
has
no
political
significance
which
—
"
"
I
didn
’
t
think
it
had
,
either
.
And
,
of
course
,
I
came
here
to
tell
you
about
the
political
and
moral
system
under
which
you
are
now
living
.
Well
,
I
thought
that
I
knew
everything
about
Hank
Rearden
,
but
there
was
one
thing
which
I
did
not
learn
until
today
.
It
was
the
blackmail
threat
that
our
relationship
would
be
made
public
that
forced
Hank
Rearden
to
sign
the
Gift
Certificate
surrendering
Rearden
Metal
.
It
was
blackmail
—
blackmail
by
your
government
officials
,
by
your
rulers
,
by
your
—
"
In
the
instant
when
Scudder
’
s
hand
swept
out
to
knock
the
microphone
over
,
a
faint
click
came
from
its
throat
as
it
crashed
to
the
floor
,
signifying
that
the
intellectual
cop
had
cut
the
broadcast
off
the
air
.
She
laughed
—
but
there
was
no
one
to
see
her
and
to
hear
the
nature
of
her
laughter
.
The
figures
rushing
into
the
glass
enclosure
were
screaming
at
one
another
.
Chick
Morrison
was
yelling
unprintable
curses
at
Bertram
Scudder
—
Bertram
Scudder
was
shouting
that
he
had
been
opposed
to
the
whole
idea
,
but
had
been
ordered
to
do
it
—
James
Taggart
looked
like
an
animal
baring
its
teeth
,
while
he
snarled
at
two
of
Morrison
’
s
youngest
assistants
and
avoided
the
snarls
of
an
older
third
.
The
muscles
of
Lillian
Rearden
’
s
face
had
an
odd
slackness
,
like
the
limbs
of
an
animal
lying
in
the
road
,
intact
but
dead
.
The
morale
conditioners
were
shrieking
what
they
guessed
they
thought
Mr
.
Mouch
would
think
.
"
What
am
I
to
say
to
them
?
"
the
program
announcer
was
crying
,
pointing
at
the
microphone
.
"
Mr
.
Morrison
,
there
’
s
an
audience
waiting
,
what
am
I
to
say
?
"
Nobody
answered
him
.
They
were
not
fighting
over
what
to
do
,
but
over
whom
to
blame
.
Nobody
said
a
word
to
Dagny
or
glanced
in
her
direction
.
Nobody
stopped
her
,
when
she
walked
out
.
She
stepped
into
the
first
taxicab
in
sight
,
giving
the
address
of
her
apartment
.
As
the
cab
started
,
she
noticed
that
the
dial
of
the
radio
on
the
driver
’
s
panel
was
lighted
and
silent
,
crackling
with
the
brief
,
tense
coughs
of
static
:
it
was
tuned
to
Bertram
Scudder
’
s
program
.
She
lay
back
against
the
seat
,
feeling
nothing
but
the
desolation
of
the
knowledge
that
the
sweep
of
her
action
had
,
perhaps
,
swept
away
the
man
who
might
never
wish
to
see
her
again
.
She
felt
,
for
the
first
time
,
the
immensity
of
the
hopelessness
of
finding
him
—
if
he
did
not
choose
to
be
found
—
in
the
streets
of
the
city
,
in
the
towns
of
a
continent
,
in
the
canyons
of
the
Rocky
Mountains
where
the
goal
was
closed
by
a
screen
of
rays
.
But
one
thing
remained
to
her
,
like
a
log
floating
on
a
void
,
the
log
to
which
she
had
clung
through
the
broadcast
—
and
she
knew
that
this
was
the
thing
she
could
not
abandon
,
even
were
she
to
lose
all
the
rest
;
it
was
the
sound
of
his
voice
saying
to
her
:
"
Nobody
stays
here
by
faking
reality
in
any
manner
whatever
.
"
"
Ladies
and
gentlemen
,
"
the
voice
of
Bertram
Scudder
’
s
announcer
crackled
suddenly
out
of
the
static
,
"
due
to
technical
difficulties
over
which
we
have
no
control
,
this
station
will
remain
off
the
air
,
pending
the
necessary
readjustments
.
"
The
taxi
driver
gave
a
brief
,
contemptuous
chuckle
—
and
snapped
the
radio
off
.
When
she
stepped
out
and
handed
him
a
bill
,
he
extended
the
change
to
her
and
,
suddenly
,
leaned
forward
for
a
closer
look
at
her
face
.
