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"
Dagny
,
"
he
asked
very
quietly
—
and
she
wondered
what
made
her
feel
that
he
looked
as
if
his
personal
fate
hung
on
her
answer
,
"
what
if
it
were
the
main
line
that
you
had
to
dismember
?
"
She
answered
irresistibly
,
"
Then
I
’
d
let
the
last
engine
run
over
me
!
"
—
but
added
,
"
No
.
That
’
s
just
self
-
pity
.
I
wouldn
’
t
.
"
He
said
gently
,
"
I
know
you
wouldn
’
t
.
But
you
’
d
wish
you
could
.
"
"
Yes
.
"
He
smiled
,
not
looking
at
her
;
it
was
a
mocking
smile
,
but
it
was
a
smile
of
pain
and
the
mockery
was
directed
at
himself
.
She
wondered
what
made
her
certain
of
it
;
but
she
knew
his
face
so
well
that
she
would
always
know
what
he
felt
,
even
though
she
could
not
guess
his
reasons
any
longer
.
She
knew
his
face
as
well
,
she
thought
,
as
she
knew
every
line
of
his
body
,
as
she
could
still
see
it
,
as
she
was
suddenly
aware
of
it
under
his
clothes
,
a
few
feet
away
,
in
the
crowding
intimacy
of
the
booth
.
He
turned
to
look
at
her
and
some
sudden
change
in
his
eyes
made
her
certain
that
he
knew
what
she
was
thinking
.
He
looked
away
and
picked
up
his
glass
.
"
Well
—
"
he
said
,
"
to
Nat
Taggart
.
"
"
And
to
Sebastian
d
’
Anconia
?
"
she
asked
—
then
regretted
it
,
because
it
had
sounded
like
mockery
,
which
she
had
not
intended
.
But
she
saw
a
look
of
odd
,
bright
clarity
in
his
eyes
and
he
answered
firmly
,
with
the
faintly
proud
smile
of
stressing
his
firmness
,
"
Yes
—
and
to
Sebastian
d
’
Anconia
.
"
Her
hand
trembled
a
little
and
she
spilled
a
few
drops
on
the
square
of
paper
lace
that
lay
on
the
dark
,
shining
plastic
of
the
table
.
She
watched
him
empty
his
glass
in
a
single
gesture
;
the
brusque
,
brief
movement
of
his
hand
made
it
look
like
the
gesture
of
some
solemn
pledge
.
