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She
did
not
know
what
form
of
torture
he
was
enduring
,
or
what
he
saw
being
wrecked
within
him
and
kept
himself
the
only
one
to
see
.
There
was
no
sign
of
pain
to
give
her
any
warning
;
he
looked
as
if
he
were
just
a
man
who
stood
still
in
the
middle
of
a
room
,
making
his
consciousness
absorb
a
fact
that
it
refused
to
absorb
.
Then
she
noticed
that
he
did
not
change
his
posture
,
that
even
his
hands
hung
by
his
sides
with
the
fingers
half
-
bent
as
they
had
been
for
a
long
time
,
it
seemed
to
her
that
she
could
feel
the
heavy
numbness
of
the
blood
stopping
in
his
fingers
—
and
this
was
the
only
clue
to
his
suffering
she
was
able
to
find
,
but
it
told
her
that
that
which
he
felt
left
him
no
power
to
feel
anything
else
,
not
even
the
existence
of
his
own
body
.
She
waited
,
her
pity
vanishing
and
becoming
respect
.
Then
she
saw
his
eyes
move
slowly
from
her
face
down
the
length
of
her
body
,
and
she
knew
the
sort
of
torture
he
was
now
choosing
to
experience
,
because
it
was
a
glance
of
a
nature
he
could
not
hide
from
her
.
She
knew
that
he
was
seeing
her
as
she
had
been
at
seventeen
,
he
was
seeing
her
with
the
rival
he
hated
,
he
was
seeing
them
together
as
they
would
be
now
,
a
sight
he
could
neither
endure
nor
resist
.
She
saw
the
protection
of
control
dropping
from
his
face
,
but
he
did
not
care
whether
he
let
her
see
his
face
alive
and
naked
,
because
there
now
was
nothing
to
read
in
it
except
an
unrevealing
violence
,
some
part
of
which
resembled
hatred
.
He
seized
her
shoulders
,
and
she
felt
prepared
to
accept
that
he
would
now
kill
her
or
beat
her
into
unconsciousness
,
and
in
the
moment
when
she
felt
certain
that
he
had
thought
of
it
,
she
felt
her
body
thrown
against
him
and
his
mouth
falling
on
hers
,
more
brutally
than
the
act
of
a
beating
would
have
permitted
.
She
found
herself
,
in
terror
,
twisting
her
body
to
resist
,
and
,
in
exultation
,
twisting
her
arms
around
him
,
holding
him
,
letting
her
lips
bring
blood
to
his
,
knowing
that
she
had
never
wanted
him
as
she
did
in
this
moment
.
When
he
threw
her
down
on
the
couch
,
she
knew
,
to
the
rhythm
of
the
beat
of
his
body
,
that
it
was
the
act
of
his
victory
over
his
rival
and
of
his
surrender
to
him
,
the
act
of
ownership
brought
to
unendurable
violence
by
the
thought
of
the
man
whom
it
was
defying
,
the
act
of
transforming
his
hatred
for
the
pleasure
that
man
had
known
into
the
intensity
of
his
own
pleasure
,
his
conquest
of
that
man
by
means
of
her
body
—
she
felt
Francisco
’
s
presence
through
Rearden
’
s
mind
,
she
felt
as
if
she
were
surrendering
to
both
men
,
to
that
which
she
had
worshipped
in
both
of
them
,
that
which
they
held
in
common
,
that
essence
of
character
which
had
made
of
her
love
for
each
an
act
of
loyalty
to
both
.
She
knew
also
that
this
was
his
rebellion
against
the
world
around
them
,
against
its
worship
of
degradation
,
against
the
long
torment
of
his
wasted
days
and
lightless
struggle
—
this
was
what
he
wished
to
assert
and
,
alone
with
her
in
the
half
-
darkness
high
in
space
above
a
city
of
ruins
,
to
hold
as
the
last
of
his
property
.
Afterwards
,
they
lay
still
,
his
face
on
her
shoulder
.
The
reflection
of
a
distant
electric
sign
kept
beating
in
faint
flashes
on
the
ceiling
above
her
head
.
He
reached
for
her
hand
and
slipped
her
fingers
under
his
face
to
let
his
mouth
rest
against
her
palm
for
a
moment
,
so
gently
that
she
felt
his
motive
more
than
his
touch
.
