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"
Good
God
,
Mr
.
Rearden
,
what
would
the
public
think
!
"
It
was
an
instinctive
,
involuntary
cry
.
The
muscles
of
Rearden
’
s
face
moved
briefly
in
a
soundless
laughter
.
Both
of
them
had
understood
the
implications
of
that
cry
.
Rearden
said
evenly
,
in
the
grave
,
unstrained
tone
of
finality
,
"
You
need
my
help
to
make
it
look
like
a
sale
—
like
a
safe
,
just
,
moral
transaction
.
I
will
not
help
you
.
"
The
man
did
not
argue
.
He
rose
to
leave
.
He
said
only
,
"
You
will
regret
the
stand
you
’
ve
taken
,
Mr
.
Rearden
.
"
"
I
don
’
t
think
so
,
"
said
Rearden
.
He
knew
that
the
incident
was
not
ended
.
He
knew
also
that
the
secrecy
of
Project
X
was
not
the
main
reason
why
these
people
feared
to
make
the
issue
public
.
He
knew
that
he
felt
an
odd
,
joyous
,
lighthearted
self
-
confidence
.
He
knew
that
these
were
the
right
steps
down
the
trail
he
had
glimpsed
.
Dagny
lay
stretched
in
an
armchair
of
her
living
room
,
her
eyes
closed
.
This
day
had
been
hard
,
but
she
knew
that
she
would
see
Hank
Rearden
tonight
.
The
thought
of
it
was
like
a
lever
lifting
the
weight
of
hours
of
senseless
ugliness
away
from
her
.
She
lay
still
,
content
to
rest
with
the
single
purpose
of
waiting
quietly
for
the
sound
of
the
key
in
the
lock
.
He
had
not
telephoned
her
,
but
she
had
heard
that
he
was
in
New
York
today
for
a
conference
with
producers
of
copper
,
and
he
never
left
the
city
till
next
morning
,
nor
spent
a
night
in
New
York
that
was
not
hers
.
She
liked
to
wait
for
him
.
She
needed
a
span
of
time
as
a
bridge
between
her
days
and
his
nights
.
The
hours
ahead
,
like
all
her
nights
with
him
,
would
be
added
,
she
thought
,
to
that
savings
account
of
one
’
s
life
where
moments
of
time
are
stored
in
the
pride
of
having
been
lived
.
The
only
pride
of
her
workday
was
not
that
it
had
been
lived
,
but
that
it
had
been
survived
.
It
was
wrong
,
she
thought
,
it
was
viciously
wrong
that
one
should
ever
be
forced
to
say
that
about
any
hour
of
one
’
s
life
.
But
she
could
not
think
of
it
now
.
She
was
thinking
of
him
,
of
the
struggle
she
had
watched
through
the
months
behind
them
,
his
struggle
for
deliverance
;
she
had
known
that
she
could
help
him
win
,
but
must
help
him
in
every
way
except
in
words
.
She
thought
of
the
evening
last
winter
when
he
came
in
,
took
a
small
package
from
his
pocket
and
held
it
out
to
her
,
saying
,
"
I
want
you
to
have
it
.
"
She
opened
it
and
stared
in
incredulous
bewilderment
at
a
pendant
made
of
a
single
pear
-
shaped
ruby
that
spurted
a
violent
fire
on
the
white
satin
of
the
jeweler
’
s
box
.
It
was
a
famous
stone
,
which
only
a
dozen
men
in
the
world
could
properly
afford
to
purchase
;
he
was
not
one
of
them
.
