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- Стр. 1328/1581
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It
was
as
if
she
were
reaching
the
limit
of
her
capacity
to
feel
,
yet
what
she
felt
was
like
a
cry
of
impatient
demand
,
which
she
was
now
incapable
of
naming
,
except
that
it
had
the
same
quality
of
ambition
as
the
course
of
her
life
,
the
same
inexhaustible
quality
of
radiant
greed
.
He
pulled
her
head
back
for
a
moment
,
to
look
straight
into
her
eyes
,
to
let
her
see
his
,
to
let
her
know
the
full
meaning
of
their
actions
,
as
if
throwing
the
spotlight
of
consciousness
upon
them
for
the
meeting
of
their
eyes
in
a
moment
of
intimacy
greater
than
the
one
to
come
.
Then
she
felt
the
mesh
of
burlap
striking
the
skin
of
her
shoulders
,
she
found
herself
lying
on
the
broken
sandbags
,
she
saw
the
long
,
tight
gleam
of
her
stockings
,
she
felt
his
mouth
pressed
to
her
ankle
,
then
rising
in
a
tortured
motion
up
the
line
of
her
leg
,
as
if
he
wished
to
own
its
shape
by
means
of
his
lips
,
then
she
felt
her
teeth
sinking
into
the
flesh
of
his
arm
,
she
felt
the
sweep
of
his
elbow
knocking
her
head
aside
and
his
mouth
seizing
her
lips
with
a
pressure
more
viciously
painful
than
hers
—
then
she
felt
,
when
it
hit
her
throat
,
that
which
she
knew
only
as
an
upward
streak
of
motion
that
released
and
united
her
body
into
a
single
shock
of
pleasure
—
then
she
knew
nothing
but
the
motion
of
his
body
and
the
driving
greed
that
went
reaching
on
and
on
,
as
if
she
were
not
a
person
any
longer
,
only
a
sensation
of
endless
reaching
for
the
impossible
—
then
she
knew
that
it
was
possible
,
and
she
gasped
and
lay
still
,
knowing
that
nothing
more
could
be
desired
,
ever
.
He
lay
beside
her
,
on
his
back
,
looking
up
at
the
darkness
of
the
granite
vault
above
them
,
she
saw
him
stretched
on
the
jagged
slant
of
sandbags
as
if
his
body
were
fluid
in
relaxation
,
she
saw
the
black
wedge
of
her
cape
flung
across
the
rails
at
their
feet
,
there
were
beads
of
moisture
twinkling
on
the
vault
,
shifting
slowly
,
running
into
invisible
cracks
,
like
the
lights
of
a
distant
traffic
.
When
he
spoke
,
his
voice
sounded
as
if
he
were
quietly
continuing
a
sentence
in
answer
to
the
questions
in
her
mind
,
as
if
he
had
nothing
to
hide
from
her
any
longer
and
what
he
owed
her
now
was
only
the
act
of
undressing
his
soul
,
as
simply
as
he
would
have
undressed
his
body
:
"
.
.
.
this
is
how
I
’
ve
watched
you
for
ten
years
.
.
.
from
here
,
from
under
the
ground
under
your
feet
.
.
.
knowing
every
move
you
made
in
your
office
at
the
top
of
the
building
,
but
never
seeing
you
,
never
enough
.
.
.
ten
years
of
nights
,
spent
waiting
to
catch
a
glimpse
of
you
,
here
,
on
the
platforms
,
when
you
boarded
a
train
.
.
.
Whenever
the
order
came
down
to
couple
your
car
,
I
’
d
know
of
it
and
wait
and
see
you
come
down
the
ramp
,
and
wish
you
didn
’
t
walk
so
fast
.
.
.
it
was
so
much
like
you
,
that
walk
,
I
’
d
know
it
anywhere
.
.
.
your
walk
and
those
legs
of
yours
.
.
.
it
was
always
your
legs
that
I
’
d
see
first
,
hurrying
down
the
ramp
,
going
past
me
as
I
looked
up
at
you
from
a
dark
side
track
below
.
.
.
I
think
I
could
have
molded
a
sculpture
of
your
legs
,
I
knew
them
,
not
with
my
eyes
,
but
with
the
palms
of
my
hands
when
I
watched
you
go
by
.
.
.
when
I
turned
back
to
my
work
.
.
.
when
I
went
home
just
before
sunrise
for
the
three
hours
of
sleep
which
I
didn
’
t
get
.
.
.
"
"
I
love
you
,
"
she
said
,
her
voice
quiet
and
almost
toneless
except
for
a
fragile
sound
of
youth
.
He
closed
his
eyes
,
as
if
letting
the
sound
travel
through
the
years
behind
them
.
"
Ten
years
,
Dagny
.
.
.
,
except
that
once
there
were
a
few
weeks
when
I
had
you
before
me
,
in
plain
sight
,
within
reach
,
not
hurrying
away
,
but
held
still
,
as
on
a
lighted
stage
,
a
private
stage
for
me
to
watch
.
.
.
and
I
watched
you
for
hours
through
many
evenings
.
.
.
in
the
lighted
window
of
an
office
that
was
called
the
John
Galt
Line
.
.
.
And
one
night
—
"
Her
breath
was
a
faint
gasp
.
"
Was
it
you
,
that
night
?
"
"
Did
you
see
me
?
"
