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He
answered
,
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
Don
’
t
wait
for
me
,
Dagny
.
Next
time
we
meet
,
you
will
not
want
to
see
me
.
I
will
have
a
reason
for
the
things
I
’
ll
do
.
But
I
can
’
t
tell
you
the
reason
and
you
will
be
right
to
damn
me
.
I
am
not
committing
the
contemptible
act
of
asking
you
to
take
me
on
faith
.
You
have
to
live
by
your
own
knowledge
and
judgment
.
You
will
damn
me
.
You
will
be
hurt
.
Try
not
to
let
it
hurt
you
too
much
.
Remember
that
I
told
you
this
and
that
it
was
all
I
could
tell
you
.
"
She
heard
nothing
from
him
or
about
him
for
a
year
.
When
she
began
to
hear
gossip
and
to
read
newspaper
stories
,
she
did
not
believe
,
at
first
,
that
they
referred
to
Francisco
d
‘
Anconia
.
After
a
while
,
she
had
to
believe
it
.
She
read
the
story
of
the
party
he
gave
on
his
yacht
,
in
the
harbor
of
Valparaiso
;
the
guests
wore
bathing
suits
,
and
an
artificial
rain
of
champagne
and
flower
petals
kept
falling
upon
the
decks
throughout
the
night
.
She
read
the
story
of
the
party
he
gave
at
an
Algerian
desert
resort
;
he
built
a
pavilion
of
thin
sheets
of
ice
and
presented
every
woman
guest
with
an
ermine
wrap
,
as
a
gift
to
be
worn
for
the
occasion
,
on
condition
that
they
remove
their
wraps
,
then
their
evening
gowns
,
then
all
the
rest
,
in
tempo
with
the
melting
of
the
walls
.
She
read
the
accounts
of
the
business
ventures
he
undertook
at
lengthy
intervals
;
the
ventures
were
spectacularly
successful
and
ruined
his
competitors
,
but
he
indulged
in
them
as
in
an
occasional
sport
,
staging
a
sudden
raid
,
then
vanishing
from
the
industrial
scene
for
a
year
or
two
,
leaving
d
‘
Anconia
Copper
to
the
management
of
his
employees
.
She
read
the
interview
where
he
said
,
"
Why
should
I
wish
to
make
money
?
I
have
enough
to
permit
three
generations
of
descendants
to
have
as
good
a
time
as
I
’
m
having
.
"
She
saw
him
once
,
at
a
reception
given
by
an
ambassador
in
New
York
.
He
bowed
to
her
courteously
,
he
smiled
,
and
he
looked
at
her
with
a
glance
in
which
no
past
existed
.
She
drew
him
aside
.
She
said
only
,
"
Francisco
,
why
?
"
"
Why
—
what
?
"
he
asked
.
She
turned
away
.
"
I
warned
you
,
"
he
said
.
She
did
not
try
to
see
him
again
.
She
survived
it
.
She
was
able
to
survive
it
,
because
she
did
not
believe
in
suffering
.
She
faced
with
astonished
indignation
the
ugly
fact
of
feeling
pain
,
and
refused
to
let
it
matter
.
Suffering
was
a
senseless
accident
,
it
was
not
part
of
life
as
she
saw
it
.
She
would
not
allow
pain
to
become
important
.
She
had
no
name
for
the
kind
of
resistance
she
offered
,
for
the
emotion
from
which
the
resistance
came
;
but
the
words
that
stood
as
its
equivalent
in
her
mind
were
:
It
does
not
count
-
it
is
not
to
be
taken
seriously
.
She
knew
these
were
the
words
,
even
in
the
moments
when
there
was
nothing
left
within
her
but
screaming
and
she
wished
she
could
lose
the
faculty
of
consciousness
so
that
it
would
not
tell
her
that
what
could
not
be
true
was
true
.
Not
to
be
taken
seriously
—
an
immovable
certainty
within
her
kept
repeating
—
pain
and
ugliness
are
never
to
be
taken
seriously
.
She
fought
it
.
She
recovered
.
Years
helped
her
to
reach
the
day
when
she
could
face
her
memories
indifferently
,
then
the
day
when
she
felt
no
necessity
to
face
them
.
It
was
finished
and
of
no
concern
to
her
any
longer
.
