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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 584/1581
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He
threw
his
head
back
and
smiled
the
most
brilliantly
gay
smile
she
had
ever
seen
on
his
face
.
"
Your
first
moment
of
weakness
,
Dagny
,
"
he
said
.
She
laughed
and
shook
her
head
.
He
stretched
his
arm
across
the
table
and
closed
his
hand
over
her
naked
shoulder
,
as
if
giving
her
an
instant
’
s
support
.
Laughing
softly
,
and
as
if
by
accident
,
she
let
her
mouth
brush
against
his
fingers
;
it
kept
her
face
down
for
the
one
moment
when
he
could
have
seen
that
the
brilliance
of
her
eyes
was
tears
.
When
she
looked
up
at
him
,
her
smile
matched
his
—
and
the
rest
of
the
evening
was
their
celebration
—
for
all
his
years
since
the
nights
on
the
mine
ledges
—
for
all
her
years
since
the
night
of
her
first
ball
when
,
in
desolate
longing
for
an
uncaptured
vision
of
gaiety
,
she
had
wondered
about
the
people
who
expected
the
lights
and
the
flowers
to
make
them
brilliant
.
"
Isn
’
t
there
.
.
.
in
what
we
’
re
taught
.
.
.
some
error
that
’
s
vicious
and
very
important
?
"
—
she
thought
of
his
words
,
as
she
lay
in
an
armchair
of
her
living
room
,
on
a
dismal
evening
of
spring
,
waiting
for
him
to
come
.
.
.
Just
a
little
farther
,
my
darling
—
she
thought
—
look
a
little
farther
and
you
’
ll
be
free
of
that
error
and
of
all
the
wasted
pain
you
never
should
have
had
to
carry
.
.
.
But
she
felt
that
she
,
too
,
had
not
seen
the
whole
of
the
distance
,
and
she
wondered
what
were
the
steps
left
for
her
to
discover
.
.
.
Walking
through
the
darkness
of
the
streets
,
on
his
way
to
her
apartment
,
Rearden
kept
his
hands
in
his
coat
pockets
and
his
arms
pressed
to
his
sides
,
because
he
felt
that
he
did
not
want
to
touch
anything
or
brush
against
anyone
.
He
had
never
experienced
it
before
—
this
sense
of
revulsion
that
was
not
aroused
by
any
particular
object
,
but
seemed
to
flood
everything
around
him
,
making
the
city
seem
sodden
.
He
could
understand
disgust
for
any
one
thing
,
and
he
could
fight
that
thing
with
the
healthy
indignation
of
knowing
that
it
did
not
belong
in
the
world
;
but
this
was
new
to
him
—
this
feeling
that
the
world
was
a
loathsome
place
where
he
did
not
want
to
belong
.
He
had
held
a
conference
with
the
producers
of
copper
,
who
had
just
been
garroted
by
a
set
of
directives
that
would
put
them
out
of
existence
in
another
year
.
He
had
had
no
advice
to
give
them
,
no
solution
to
offer
;
his
ingenuity
,
which
had
made
him
famous
as
the
man
who
would
always
find
a
way
to
keep
production
going
,
had
not
been
able
to
discover
a
way
to
save
them
.
But
they
had
all
known
that
there
was
no
way
;
ingenuity
was
a
virtue
of
the
mind
—
and
in
the
issue
confronting
them
,
the
mind
had
been
discarded
as
irrelevant
long
ago
.
"
It
’
s
a
deal
between
the
boys
in
Washington
and
the
importers
of
copper
,
"
one
of
the
men
had
said
,
"
mainly
d
’
Anconia
Copper
.
"
This
was
only
a
small
,
extraneous
stab
of
pain
,
he
thought
,
a
feeling
of
disappointment
in
an
expectation
he
had
never
had
the
right
to
expect
;
he
should
have
known
that
this
was
just
what
a
man
like
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
would
do
—
and
he
wondered
angrily
why
he
felt
as
if
a
bright
,
brief
flame
had
died
somewhere
in
a
lightless
world
.
He
did
not
know
whether
the
impossibility
of
acting
had
given
him
this
sense
of
loathing
,
or
whether
the
loathing
had
made
him
lose
the
desire
to
act
.
It
’
s
both
,
he
thought
;
a
desire
presupposes
the
possibility
of
action
to
achieve
it
;
action
presupposes
a
goal
which
is
worth
achieving
.
If
the
only
goal
possible
was
to
wheedle
a
precarious
moment
’
s
favor
from
men
who
held
guns
,
then
neither
action
nor
desire
could
exist
any
longer
.
