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She
was
fighting
to
drown
a
bitter
voice
that
seemed
to
be
saying
:
That
’
s
all
they
’
re
fit
for
,
these
men
,
if
even
that
.
.
.
there
’
s
not
a
single
mind
left
anywhere
on
Taggart
Transcontinental
.
.
.
"
Trains
will
continue
to
be
moved
in
and
out
of
the
Terminal
.
You
will
remain
at
your
posts
until
—
"
Then
she
stopped
.
It
was
his
eyes
and
hair
that
she
saw
first
—
the
ruthlessly
perceptive
eyes
,
the
streaks
of
hair
shaded
from
gold
to
copper
that
seemed
to
reflect
the
glow
of
sunlight
in
the
murk
of
the
underground
—
she
saw
John
Galt
among
the
chain
gang
of
the
mindless
,
John
Galt
in
greasy
overalls
and
rolled
shirt
sleeves
,
she
saw
his
weightless
way
of
standing
,
his
face
held
lifted
,
his
eyes
looking
at
her
as
if
he
had
seen
this
moment
many
moments
ago
.
"
What
’
s
the
matter
,
Miss
Taggart
?
"
It
was
the
soft
voice
of
the
tower
director
,
who
stood
by
her
side
,
with
some
sort
of
paper
in
his
hand
—
and
she
thought
it
was
strange
to
emerge
from
a
span
of
unconsciousness
which
had
been
the
span
of
the
sharpest
awareness
she
had
ever
experienced
,
only
she
did
not
know
how
long
it
had
lasted
or
where
she
was
or
why
.
She
had
been
aware
of
Galt
’
s
face
,
she
had
been
seeing
,
in
the
shape
of
his
mouth
,
in
the
planes
of
his
cheeks
,
the
crackup
of
that
implacable
serenity
which
had
always
been
his
,
but
he
still
retained
it
in
his
look
of
acknowledging
the
breach
,
of
admitting
that
this
moment
was
too
much
even
for
him
.
She
knew
that
she
went
on
speaking
,
because
those
around
her
looked
as
if
they
were
listening
,
though
she
could
not
hear
a
sound
,
she
went
on
speaking
as
if
carrying
out
a
hypnotic
order
given
to
herself
some
endless
time
ago
,
knowing
only
that
the
completion
of
that
order
was
a
form
of
defiance
against
him
,
neither
knowing
nor
hearing
her
own
words
.
She
felt
as
if
she
were
standing
in
a
radiant
silence
where
sight
was
her
only
capacity
and
his
face
was
its
only
object
,
and
the
sight
of
his
face
was
like
a
speech
in
the
form
of
a
pressure
at
the
base
of
her
throat
.
It
seemed
so
natural
that
he
should
be
here
,
it
seemed
so
unendurably
simple
—
she
felt
as
if
the
shock
were
not
his
presence
,
but
the
presence
of
others
on
the
tracks
of
her
railroad
,
where
he
belonged
and
they
did
not
.
She
was
seeing
those
moments
aboard
a
train
when
,
at
its
plunge
into
the
tunnels
,
she
had
felt
a
sudden
,
solemn
tension
,
as
if
this
place
were
showing
her
in
naked
simplicity
the
essence
of
her
railroad
and
of
her
life
,
the
union
of
consciousness
and
matter
,
the
frozen
form
of
a
mind
’
s
ingenuity
giving
physical
existence
to
its
purpose
;
she
had
felt
a
sense
of
sudden
hope
,
as
if
this
place
held
the
meaning
of
all
of
her
values
,
and
a
sense
of
secret
excitement
,
as
if
a
nameless
promise
were
awaiting
her
under
the
ground
—
it
was
right
that
she
should
now
meet
him
here
,
he
had
been
the
meaning
and
the
promise
—
she
was
not
seeing
his
clothing
any
longer
,
nor
to
what
level
her
railroad
had
reduced
him
—
she
was
seeing
only
the
vanishing
torture
of
the
months
when
he
had
been
outside
her
reach
—
she
was
seeing
in
his
face
the
confession
of
what
those
months
had
cost
him
—
the
only
speech
she
heard
was
as
if
she
were
saying
to
him
:
This
is
the
reward
for
all
my
days
—
and
as
if
he
were
answering
:
For
all
of
mine
.
She
knew
that
she
had
finished
speaking
to
the
strangers
when
she
saw
that
the
tower
director
had
stepped
forward
and
was
saying
something
to
them
,
glancing
at
a
list
in
his
hand
.
Then
,
drawn
by
a
sense
of
irresistible
certainty
,
she
found
herself
descending
the
stairs
,
slipping
away
from
the
crowd
,
not
toward
the
platforms
and
the
exit
,
but
into
the
darkness
of
the
abandoned
tunnels
.
You
will
follow
me
,
she
thought
—
and
felt
as
if
the
thought
were
not
in
words
,
but
in
the
tension
of
her
muscles
,
the
tension
of
her
will
to
accomplish
a
thing
she
knew
to
be
outside
her
power
,
yet
she
knew
with
certainty
that
it
would
be
accomplished
and
by
her
wish
.
.
.
no
,
she
thought
,
not
by
her
wish
,
but
by
its
total
rightness
.
You
will
follow
me
—
it
was
neither
plea
nor
prayer
nor
demand
,
but
the
quiet
statement
of
a
fact
,
it
contained
the
whole
of
her
power
of
knowledge
and
the
whole
of
the
knowledge
she
had
earned
through
the
years
.
You
will
follow
me
,
if
we
are
what
we
are
,
you
and
I
,
if
we
live
,
if
the
world
exists
,
if
you
know
the
meaning
of
this
moment
and
can
’
t
let
it
slip
by
,
as
others
let
it
slip
,
into
the
senselessness
of
the
unwilled
and
unreached
.
You
will
follow
me
—
she
felt
an
exultant
assurance
,
which
was
neither
hope
nor
faith
,
but
an
act
of
worship
for
the
logic
of
existence
.
