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Then
could
life
?
—
he
asked
himself
indifferently
.
Life
,
he
thought
,
had
been
defined
as
motion
;
man
’
s
life
was
purposeful
motion
;
what
was
the
state
of
a
being
to
whom
purpose
and
motion
were
denied
,
a
being
held
in
chains
but
left
to
breathe
and
to
see
all
the
magnificence
of
the
possibilities
he
could
have
reached
,
left
to
scream
"
Why
?
"
and
to
be
shown
the
muzzle
of
a
gun
as
sole
explanation
?
He
shrugged
,
walking
on
;
he
did
not
care
even
to
find
an
answer
.
He
observed
,
indifferently
,
the
devastation
wrought
by
his
own
indifference
.
No
matter
how
hard
a
struggle
he
had
lived
through
in
the
past
,
he
had
never
reached
the
ultimate
ugliness
of
abandoning
the
will
to
act
.
In
moments
of
suffering
,
he
had
never
let
pain
win
its
one
permanent
victory
:
he
had
never
allowed
it
to
make
him
lose
the
desire
for
joy
.
He
had
never
doubted
the
nature
of
the
world
or
man
’
s
greatness
as
its
motive
power
and
its
core
.
Years
ago
,
he
had
wondered
with
contemptuous
incredulity
about
the
fanatical
sects
that
appeared
among
men
in
the
dark
corners
of
history
,
the
sects
who
believed
that
man
was
trapped
in
a
malevolent
universe
ruled
by
evil
for
the
sole
purpose
of
his
torture
.
Tonight
,
he
knew
what
their
vision
of
the
world
and
their
feel
of
it
had
been
.
If
what
he
now
saw
around
him
was
the
world
in
which
he
lived
,
then
he
did
not
want
to
touch
any
part
of
it
,
he
did
not
want
to
fight
it
,
he
was
an
outsider
with
nothing
at
stake
and
no
concern
for
remaining
alive
much
longer
.
Dagny
and
his
wish
to
see
her
were
the
only
exception
left
to
him
.
The
wish
remained
.
But
in
a
sudden
shock
,
he
realized
that
he
felt
no
desire
to
sleep
with
her
tonight
.
That
desire
—
which
had
never
given
him
a
moment
’
s
rest
,
which
had
been
growing
,
feeding
on
its
own
satisfaction
—
was
wiped
out
.
It
was
an
odd
impotence
,
neither
of
his
mind
nor
of
his
body
.
He
felt
,
as
passionately
as
he
had
ever
felt
it
,
that
she
was
the
most
desirable
woman
on
earth
;
but
what
came
from
it
was
only
a
desire
to
desire
her
,
a
wish
to
feel
,
not
a
feeling
.
The
sense
of
numbness
seemed
impersonal
,
as
if
its
root
were
neither
in
him
nor
in
her
;
as
if
it
were
the
act
of
sex
that
now
belonged
to
a
realm
which
he
had
left
.
"
Don
’
t
get
up
—
stay
there
—
it
’
s
so
obvious
that
you
’
ve
been
waiting
for
me
that
I
want
to
look
at
it
longer
.
"
He
said
it
,
from
the
doorway
of
her
apartment
,
seeing
her
stretched
in
an
armchair
,
seeing
the
eager
little
jolt
that
threw
her
shoulders
forward
as
she
was
about
to
rise
;
he
was
smiling
.
He
noted
—
as
if
some
part
of
him
were
watching
his
reactions
with
detached
curiosity
—
that
his
smile
and
his
sudden
sense
of
gaiety
were
real
.
He
grasped
a
feeling
that
he
had
always
experienced
,
but
never
identified
because
it
had
always
been
absolute
and
immediate
:
a
feeling
that
forbade
him
ever
to
face
her
in
pain
.
It
was
much
more
than
the
pride
of
wishing
to
conceal
his
suffering
:
it
was
the
feeling
that
suffering
must
not
be
granted
recognition
in
her
presence
,
that
no
form
of
claim
between
them
should
ever
be
motivated
by
pain
and
aimed
at
pity
.
It
was
not
pity
that
he
brought
here
or
came
here
to
find
.
"
Do
you
still
need
proof
that
I
’
m
always
waiting
for
you
?
"
she
asked
,
leaning
obediently
back
in
her
chair
;
her
voice
was
neither
tender
nor
pleading
,
but
bright
and
mocking
.
"
Dagny
,
why
is
it
that
most
women
would
never
admit
that
,
but
you
do
?
"
