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- Стр. 1193/1581
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She
felt
certain
that
he
recognized
her
and
she
held
his
glance
austerely
for
an
instant
.
His
bitter
face
and
his
over
patched
shirt
were
worn
out
by
a
hopeless
,
losing
struggle
.
As
she
handed
him
a
tip
,
he
said
quietly
,
with
too
earnest
,
too
solemn
an
emphasis
for
a
mere
acknowledgment
of
the
corns
,
"
Thank
you
,
ma
’
am
.
"
She
turned
swiftly
and
hurried
into
the
building
,
not
to
let
him
see
the
emotion
which
was
suddenly
more
than
she
could
bear
.
Her
head
was
drooping
,
as
she
unlocked
the
door
of
her
apartment
,
and
the
light
struck
her
from
below
,
from
the
carpet
,
before
she
jerked
her
head
up
in
astonishment
at
finding
the
apartment
lighted
.
She
took
a
step
forward
—
and
saw
Hank
Rearden
standing
across
the
room
.
She
was
held
still
by
two
shocks
:
one
was
the
sight
of
his
presence
,
she
had
not
expected
him
to
be
back
so
soon
;
the
other
was
the
sight
of
his
face
.
His
face
had
so
firm
,
so
confident
,
so
mature
a
look
of
calm
,
in
the
faint
half
-
smile
,
in
the
clarity
of
the
eyes
,
that
she
felt
as
if
he
had
aged
decades
within
one
month
,
but
aged
in
the
proper
sense
of
human
growth
,
aged
in
vision
,
in
stature
,
in
power
.
She
felt
that
he
who
had
lived
through
a
month
of
agony
,
he
whom
she
had
hurt
so
deeply
and
was
about
to
hurt
more
deeply
still
,
he
would
now
be
the
one
to
give
her
support
and
consolation
,
his
would
be
the
strength
to
protect
them
both
.
She
stood
motionless
for
only
an
instant
,
but
she
saw
his
smile
deepening
as
if
he
were
reading
her
thoughts
and
telling
her
that
she
had
nothing
to
fear
.
She
heard
a
slight
,
crackling
sound
and
saw
,
on
a
table
beside
him
,
the
lighted
dial
of
a
silent
radio
.
Her
eyes
moved
to
his
as
a
question
and
he
answered
by
the
faintest
nod
,
barely
more
than
a
lowering
of
his
eyelids
;
he
had
heard
her
broadcast
.
They
moved
toward
each
other
in
the
same
moment
.
He
seized
her
shoulders
to
support
her
,
her
face
was
raised
to
his
,
but
he
did
not
touch
her
lips
,
he
took
her
hand
and
kissed
her
wrist
,
her
fingers
,
her
palm
,
as
the
sole
form
of
the
greeting
which
so
much
of
his
suffering
had
gone
to
await
.
And
suddenly
,
broken
by
the
whole
of
this
day
and
of
that
month
,
she
was
sobbing
in
his
arms
,
slumped
against
him
,
sobbing
as
she
had
never
done
in
her
life
,
as
a
woman
,
in
surrender
to
pain
and
in
a
last
,
futile
protest
against
it
.
Holding
her
so
that
she
stood
and
moved
only
by
means
of
his
body
,
not
hers
,
he
led
her
to
the
couch
and
tried
to
make
her
sit
down
beside
him
,
but
she
slipped
to
the
floor
,
to
sit
at
his
feet
and
bury
her
face
in
his
knees
and
sob
without
defense
or
disguise
.
He
did
not
lift
her
,
he
let
her
cry
,
with
his
arm
tight
about
her
.
She
felt
his
hand
on
her
head
,
on
her
shoulder
,
she
felt
the
protection
of
his
firmness
,
a
firmness
which
seemed
to
tell
her
that
as
her
tears
were
for
both
of
them
,
so
was
his
knowledge
,
that
he
knew
her
pain
and
felt
it
and
understood
,
yet
was
able
to
witness
it
calmly
—
and
his
calm
seemed
to
lift
her
burden
,
by
granting
her
the
right
to
break
,
here
,
at
his
feet
,
by
telling
her
that
he
was
able
to
carry
what
she
could
not
carry
any
longer
.
She
knew
dimly
that
this
was
the
real
Hank
Rearden
,
and
no
matter
what
form
of
insulting
cruelty
he
had
once
given
to
their
first
nights
together
,
no
matter
how
often
she
had
seemed
as
the
stronger
of
the
two
,
this
had
always
been
within
him
and
at
the
root
of
their
bond
—
this
strength
of
his
which
would
protect
her
if
ever
hers
were
gone
.
When
she
raised
her
head
,
he
was
smiling
down
at
her
.
