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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 177/1581
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Nobody
ever
wondered
whether
Francisco
d
‘
Anconia
was
good
-
looking
or
not
;
it
seemed
irrelevant
;
when
he
entered
a
room
,
it
was
impossible
to
look
at
anyone
else
.
His
tall
,
slender
figure
had
an
air
of
distinction
,
too
authentic
to
be
modern
,
and
he
moved
as
if
he
had
a
cape
floating
behind
him
in
the
wind
.
People
explained
him
by
saying
that
he
had
the
vitality
of
a
healthy
animal
,
but
they
knew
dimly
that
that
was
not
correct
.
He
had
the
vitality
of
a
healthy
human
being
,
a
thing
so
rare
that
no
one
could
identify
it
.
He
had
the
power
of
certainty
.
Nobody
described
his
appearance
as
Latin
,
yet
the
word
applied
to
him
,
not
in
its
present
,
but
in
its
original
sense
,
not
pertaining
to
Spain
,
but
to
ancient
Rome
.
His
body
seemed
designed
as
an
exercise
in
consistency
of
style
,
a
style
made
of
gauntness
,
of
tight
flesh
,
long
legs
and
swift
movements
.
His
features
had
the
fine
precision
of
sculpture
.
His
hair
was
black
and
straight
,
swept
back
.
The
suntan
of
his
skin
intensified
the
startling
color
of
his
eyes
:
they
were
a
pure
,
clear
blue
.
His
face
was
open
,
its
rapid
changes
of
expression
reflecting
whatever
he
felt
,
as
if
he
had
nothing
to
hide
.
The
blue
eyes
were
still
and
changeless
,
never
giving
a
hint
of
what
he
thought
.
He
sat
on
the
floor
of
his
drawing
room
,
dressed
in
sleeping
pajamas
of
thin
black
silk
.
The
marbles
spread
on
the
carpet
around
him
were
made
of
the
semi
-
precious
stones
of
his
native
country
:
carnelian
and
rock
crystal
.
He
did
not
rise
when
Dagny
entered
.
He
sat
looking
up
at
her
,
and
a
crystal
marble
fell
like
a
teardrop
out
of
his
hand
.
He
smiled
,
the
unchanged
,
insolent
,
brilliant
smile
of
his
childhood
.
"
Hi
,
Slug
!
"
She
heard
herself
answering
,
irresistibly
,
helplessly
,
happily
:
"
Hi
,
Frisco
!
"
She
was
looking
at
his
face
;
it
was
the
face
she
had
known
.
It
bore
no
mark
of
the
kind
of
life
he
had
led
,
nor
of
what
she
had
seen
on
their
last
night
together
.
There
was
no
sign
of
tragedy
,
no
bitterness
,
no
tension
—
only
the
radiant
mockery
,
matured
and
stressed
,
the
look
of
dangerously
unpredictable
amusement
,
and
the
great
,
guiltless
serenity
of
spirit
.
But
this
,
she
thought
,
was
impossible
;
this
was
more
shocking
than
all
the
rest
.
His
eyes
were
studying
her
:
the
battered
coat
thrown
open
,
half
-
slipping
off
her
shoulders
,
and
the
slender
body
in
a
gray
suit
that
looked
like
an
office
uniform
.
"
If
you
came
here
dressed
like
this
in
order
not
to
let
me
notice
how
lovely
you
are
,
"
he
said
,
"
you
miscalculated
.
You
’
re
lovely
.
I
wish
I
could
tell
you
what
a
relief
it
is
to
see
a
face
that
’
s
intelligent
though
a
woman
’
s
.
But
you
don
’
t
want
to
hear
it
.
That
’
s
not
what
you
came
here
for
.
"
