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- Стр. 310/1581
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"
Don
’
t
go
,
Miss
Taggart
.
I
’
d
like
you
to
understand
.
"
She
raised
her
face
to
him
,
in
obedient
indifference
.
Her
face
was
not
pale
,
but
its
planes
stood
out
with
strangely
naked
precision
,
as
if
its
skin
had
lost
the
shadings
of
color
.
"
You
’
re
young
,
"
he
said
.
"
At
your
age
,
I
had
the
same
faith
in
the
unlimited
power
of
reason
.
The
same
brilliant
vision
of
man
as
a
rational
being
.
I
have
seen
so
much
,
since
.
I
have
been
disillusioned
so
often
.
.
.
I
’
d
like
to
tell
you
just
one
story
.
"
He
stood
at
the
window
of
his
office
.
It
had
grown
dark
outside
.
The
darkness
seemed
to
rise
from
the
black
cut
of
the
river
,
far
below
.
A
few
lights
trembled
in
the
water
,
from
among
the
hills
of
the
other
shore
.
The
sky
was
still
the
intense
blue
of
evening
.
A
lonely
star
,
low
over
the
earth
,
seemed
unnaturally
large
and
made
the
sky
look
darker
.
"
When
I
was
at
the
Patrick
Henry
University
,
"
he
said
,
"
I
had
three
pupils
.
I
have
had
many
bright
students
in
the
past
,
but
these
three
were
the
kind
of
reward
a
teacher
prays
for
.
If
ever
you
could
wish
to
receive
the
gift
of
the
human
mind
at
its
best
,
young
and
delivered
into
your
hands
for
guidance
,
they
were
this
gift
.
Theirs
was
the
kind
of
intelligence
one
expects
to
see
,
in
the
future
,
changing
the
course
of
the
world
.
They
came
from
very
different
backgrounds
,
but
they
were
inseparable
friends
.
They
made
a
strange
choice
of
studies
.
They
majored
in
two
subjects
—
mine
and
Hugh
Akston
’
s
.
Physics
and
philosophy
.
It
is
not
a
combination
of
interests
one
encounters
nowadays
.
Hugh
Akston
was
a
distinguished
man
,
a
great
mind
.
.
.
unlike
the
incredible
creature
whom
that
University
has
now
put
in
his
place
.
.
.
Akston
and
I
were
a
little
jealous
of
each
other
over
these
three
students
.
It
was
a
kind
of
contest
between
us
,
a
friendly
contest
,
because
we
understood
each
other
,
I
heard
Akston
saying
one
day
that
he
regarded
them
as
his
sons
.
I
resented
it
a
little
.
.
.
because
I
thought
of
them
as
mine
.
.
.
"
He
turned
and
looked
at
her
.
The
bitter
lines
of
age
were
visible
now
,
cutting
across
his
cheeks
.
He
said
,
"
When
I
endorsed
the
establishment
of
this
Institute
,
one
of
these
three
damned
me
.
I
have
not
seen
him
since
.
It
used
to
disturb
me
,
in
the
first
few
years
.
I
wondered
,
once
in
a
while
,
whether
he
had
been
right
.
.
.
It
has
ceased
to
disturb
me
,
long
ago
.
"
He
smiled
.
There
was
nothing
but
bitterness
now
,
in
his
smile
and
his
face
.
"
These
three
men
,
these
three
who
held
all
the
hope
which
the
gift
of
intelligence
ever
proffered
,
these
three
from
whom
we
expected
such
a
magnificent
future
—
one
of
them
was
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
,
who
became
a
depraved
playboy
.
Another
was
Ragnar
Danneskjold
,
who
became
a
plain
bandit
.
So
much
for
the
promise
of
the
human
mind
.
"
"
Who
was
the
third
one
?
"
she
asked
,
He
shrugged
.
"
The
third
one
did
not
achieve
even
that
sort
of
notorious
distinction
.
He
vanished
without
a
trace
—
into
the
great
unknown
of
mediocrity
.
He
is
probably
a
second
assistant
bookkeeper
somewhere
.
"
