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"
Why
?
"
"
In
regard
to
the
motor
.
"
"
The
motor
.
.
.
?
"
He
said
it
slowly
,
in
a
strange
way
,
as
if
the
thought
of
the
motor
had
suddenly
brought
back
to
him
a
realm
he
had
forgotten
.
"
Dagny
.
.
.
the
man
who
invented
that
motor
.
.
.
he
did
exist
,
didn
’
t
he
?
"
"
Why
.
.
.
of
course
.
What
do
you
mean
?
"
"
I
mean
only
that
.
.
.
that
it
’
s
a
pleasant
thought
,
isn
’
t
it
?
Even
if
he
’
s
dead
now
,
he
was
alive
once
.
.
.
so
alive
that
he
designed
that
motor
.
.
.
"
"
What
’
s
the
matter
,
Hank
?
"
"
Nothing
.
Tell
me
about
the
motor
.
"
She
told
him
about
her
meeting
with
Dr
.
Stadler
.
She
got
up
and
paced
the
room
,
while
speaking
;
she
could
not
lie
still
,
she
always
felt
a
surge
of
hope
and
of
eagerness
for
action
when
she
dealt
with
the
subject
of
the
motor
.
The
first
thing
he
noticed
were
the
lights
of
the
city
beyond
the
window
:
he
felt
as
if
they
were
being
turned
on
,
one
by
one
,
forming
the
great
skyline
he
loved
;
he
felt
it
,
even
though
he
knew
that
the
lights
had
been
there
all
the
time
.
Then
he
understood
that
the
thing
which
was
returning
was
within
him
:
the
shape
coming
back
drop
by
drop
was
his
love
for
the
city
.
Then
he
knew
that
it
had
come
back
because
he
was
looking
at
the
city
past
the
taut
,
slender
figure
of
a
woman
whose
head
was
lifted
eagerly
as
at
a
sight
of
distance
,
whose
steps
were
a
restless
substitute
for
flight
.
He
was
looking
at
her
as
at
a
stranger
,
he
was
barely
aware
that
she
was
a
woman
,
but
the
sight
was
flowing
into
a
feeling
the
words
for
which
were
:
This
is
the
world
and
the
core
of
it
,
this
is
what
made
the
city
—
they
go
together
,
the
angular
shapes
of
the
buildings
and
the
angular
lines
of
a
face
stripped
of
everything
but
purpose
—
the
rising
steps
of
steel
and
the
steps
of
a
being
intent
upon
his
goal
—
this
is
what
they
had
been
,
all
the
men
who
had
lived
to
invent
the
lights
,
the
steel
,
the
furnaces
,
the
motors
—
they
were
the
world
,
they
,
not
the
men
who
crouched
in
dark
corners
,
half
-
begging
,
half
-
threatening
,
boastfully
displaying
their
open
sores
as
their
only
claim
on
life
and
virtue
—
so
long
as
he
knew
that
there
existed
one
man
with
the
bright
courage
of
a
new
thought
,
could
he
give
up
the
world
to
those
others
?
—
so
long
as
he
could
find
a
single
sight
to
give
him
a
life
-
restoring
shot
of
admiration
,
could
he
believe
that
the
world
belonged
to
the
sores
,
the
moans
and
the
guns
?
—
the
men
who
invented
motors
did
exist
,
he
would
never
doubt
their
reality
,
it
was
his
vision
of
them
that
had
made
the
contrast
unbearable
,
so
that
even
the
loathing
was
the
tribute
of
his
loyalty
to
them
and
to
that
world
which
was
theirs
and
his
.
