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- Стр. 1282/1581
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Distantly
,
as
on
the
margin
of
her
mind
,
she
could
see
what
sort
of
game
the
men
behind
the
shrieking
phones
had
played
and
lost
.
They
seemed
far
away
,
like
tiny
commas
squirming
on
the
white
field
under
the
lens
of
a
microscope
.
She
wondered
how
they
could
ever
expect
to
be
taken
seriously
when
a
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
was
possible
on
earth
.
She
saw
the
glare
of
the
explosion
in
every
face
she
met
through
the
rest
of
the
day
—
and
in
every
face
she
passed
in
the
darkness
of
the
streets
,
that
evening
.
If
Francisco
had
wanted
a
worthy
funeral
pyre
for
d
’
Anconia
Copper
,
she
thought
,
he
had
succeeded
.
There
it
was
,
in
the
streets
of
New
York
City
,
the
only
city
on
earth
still
able
to
understand
it
—
in
the
faces
of
people
,
in
their
whispers
,
the
whispers
crackling
tensely
like
small
tongues
of
fire
,
the
faces
lighted
by
a
look
that
was
both
solemn
and
frantic
,
the
shadings
of
expressions
appearing
to
sway
and
weave
,
as
if
cast
by
a
distant
flame
,
some
frightened
,
some
angry
,
most
of
them
uneasy
,
uncertain
,
expectant
,
but
all
of
them
acknowledging
a
fact
much
beyond
an
industrial
catastrophe
,
all
of
them
knowing
what
it
meant
,
though
none
would
name
its
meaning
,
all
of
them
carrying
a
touch
of
laughter
,
a
laughter
of
amusement
and
defiance
,
the
bitter
laughter
of
perishing
victims
who
feel
that
they
are
avenged
.
She
saw
it
in
the
face
of
Hank
Rearden
,
when
she
met
him
for
dinner
that
evening
.
As
his
tall
,
confident
figure
walked
toward
her
—
the
only
figure
that
seemed
at
home
in
the
costly
setting
of
a
distinguished
restaurant
—
she
saw
the
look
of
eagerness
fighting
the
sternness
of
his
features
,
the
look
of
a
young
boy
still
open
to
the
enchantment
of
the
unexpected
.
He
did
not
speak
of
this
day
’
s
event
,
but
she
knew
that
it
was
the
only
image
in
his
mind
.
They
had
been
meeting
whenever
he
came
to
the
city
,
spending
a
brief
,
rare
evening
together
—
with
their
past
still
alive
in
their
silent
acknowledgment
—
with
no
future
in
their
work
and
in
their
common
struggle
,
but
with
the
knowledge
that
they
were
allies
gaining
support
from
the
fact
of
each
other
’
s
existence
.
He
did
not
want
to
mention
today
’
s
event
,
he
did
not
want
to
speak
of
Francisco
,
but
she
noticed
,
as
they
sat
at
the
table
,
that
the
strain
of
a
resisted
smile
kept
pulling
at
the
hollows
of
his
cheeks
.
She
knew
whom
he
meant
,
when
he
said
suddenly
,
his
voice
soft
and
low
with
the
weight
of
admiration
,
"
He
did
keep
his
oath
,
didn
’
t
he
?
"
"
His
oath
?
"
she
asked
,
startled
,
thinking
of
the
inscription
on
the
temple
of
Atlantis
.
"
He
said
to
me
,
‘
I
swear
—
by
the
woman
I
love
—
that
I
am
your
friend
,
’
He
was
.
"
"
He
is
.
"
He
shook
his
head
.
"
I
have
no
right
to
think
of
him
.
I
have
no
right
to
accept
what
he
’
s
done
as
an
act
in
my
defense
.
And
yet
.
.
.
"
He
stopped
.
