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She
did
not
see
him
often
in
the
next
two
years
.
She
never
knew
where
he
was
,
in
what
city
or
on
what
continent
,
the
day
after
she
had
seen
him
.
He
always
came
to
her
unexpectedly
—
and
she
liked
it
,
because
it
made
him
a
continuous
presence
in
her
life
,
like
the
ray
of
a
hidden
light
that
could
hit
her
at
any
moment
.
Whenever
she
saw
him
in
his
office
,
she
thought
of
his
hands
as
she
had
seen
them
on
the
wheel
of
a
motorboat
:
he
drove
his
business
with
the
same
smooth
,
dangerous
,
confidently
mastered
speed
.
But
one
small
incident
remained
in
her
mind
as
a
shock
:
it
did
not
fit
him
.
She
saw
him
standing
at
the
window
of
his
office
,
one
evening
,
looking
at
the
brown
winter
twilight
of
the
city
.
He
did
not
move
for
a
long
time
.
His
face
was
hard
and
tight
;
it
had
the
look
of
an
emotion
she
had
never
believed
possible
to
him
:
of
bitter
,
helpless
anger
.
He
said
,
"
There
’
s
something
wrong
in
the
world
.
There
’
s
always
been
.
Something
no
one
has
ever
named
or
explained
.
"
He
would
not
tell
her
what
it
was
.
When
she
saw
him
again
,
no
trace
of
that
incident
remained
in
his
manner
.
It
was
spring
and
they
stood
together
on
the
roof
terrace
of
a
restaurant
,
the
light
silk
of
her
evening
gown
blowing
in
the
wind
against
his
tall
figure
in
formal
black
clothes
.
They
looked
at
the
city
.
In
the
dining
room
behind
them
,
the
sounds
of
the
music
were
a
concert
étude
by
Richard
Halley
;
Halley
’
s
name
was
not
known
to
many
,
but
they
had
discovered
it
and
they
loved
his
music
.
Francisco
said
,
"
We
don
’
t
have
to
look
for
skyscrapers
in
the
distance
,
do
we
?
We
’
ve
reached
them
.
"
She
smiled
and
said
,
"
I
think
we
’
re
going
past
them
.
.
.
.
I
’
m
almost
afraid
.
.
.
we
’
re
on
a
speeding
elevator
of
some
kind
.
"
"
Sure
.
Afraid
of
what
?
Let
it
speed
.
Why
should
there
be
a
limit
?
"
He
was
twenty
-
three
when
his
father
died
and
he
went
to
Buenos
Aires
to
take
over
the
d
‘
Anconia
estate
,
now
his
.
She
did
not
see
him
for
three
years
.
He
wrote
to
her
,
at
first
,
at
random
intervals
.
He
wrote
about
d
‘
Anconia
Copper
,
about
the
world
market
,
about
issues
affecting
the
interests
of
Taggart
Transcontinental
.
His
letters
were
brief
,
written
by
hand
,
usually
at
night
.
She
was
not
unhappy
in
his
absence
.
She
,
too
,
was
making
her
first
steps
toward
the
control
of
a
future
kingdom
.
Among
the
leaders
of
industry
,
her
father
’
s
friends
,
she
heard
it
said
that
one
had
better
watch
the
young
d
‘
Anconia
heir
;
if
that
copper
company
had
been
great
before
,
it
would
sweep
the
world
now
,
under
what
his
management
promised
to
become
.
She
smiled
,
without
astonishment
.
There
were
moments
when
she
felt
a
sudden
,
violent
longing
for
him
,
but
it
was
only
impatience
,
not
pain
.
She
dismissed
it
,
in
the
confident
knowledge
that
they
were
both
working
toward
a
future
that
would
bring
them
everything
they
wanted
,
including
each
other
.
Then
his
letters
stopped
.
She
was
twenty
-
four
on
that
day
of
spring
when
the
telephone
rang
on
her
desk
,
in
an
office
of
the
Taggart
Building
.
"
Dagny
,
"
said
a
voice
she
recognized
at
once
,
"
I
’
m
at
the
Wayne
-
Falkland
.
Come
to
have
dinner
with
me
tonight
.
At
seven
.
"
He
said
it
without
greeting
,
as
if
they
had
parted
the
day
before
.
Because
it
took
her
a
moment
to
regain
the
art
of
breathing
,
she
realized
for
the
first
time
how
much
that
voice
meant
to
her
.
"
All
right
.
.
.
Francisco
,
"
she
answered
.
They
needed
to
say
nothing
else
.
She
thought
,
replacing
the
receiver
,
that
his
return
was
natural
and
as
she
had
always
expected
it
to
happen
,
except
that
she
had
not
expected
her
sudden
need
to
pronounce
his
name
or
the
stab
of
happiness
she
felt
while
pronouncing
it
.
When
she
entered
his
hotel
room
,
that
evening
,
she
stopped
short
.
He
stood
in
the
middle
of
the
room
,
looking
at
her
—
and
she
saw
a
smile
that
came
slowly
,
involuntarily
,
as
if
he
had
lost
the
ability
to
smile
and
were
astonished
that
he
should
regain
it
.
He
looked
at
her
incredulously
,
not
quite
believing
what
she
was
or
what
he
felt
.
His
glance
was
like
a
plea
,
like
the
cry
for
help
of
a
man
who
could
never
cry
.
At
her
entrance
,
he
had
started
their
old
salute
,
he
had
started
to
say
,
"
Hi
—
"
but
he
did
not
finish
it
.
Instead
,
after
a
moment
,
he
said
,
"
You
’
re
beautiful
,
Dagny
.
"
He
said
it
as
if
it
hurt
him
.
"
Francisco
,
I
—
"
