Atlas Shrugged [456]
She closed her eyes, relaxing and giving up. She felt an odd, lighthearted indifference, as if she suddenly wanted nothing but the comfort of surrendering to helplessness.
The doctor who arrived was a gray-haired man with a mild, thoughtful face and a firmly, unobtrusively confident manner.
"Miss Taggart, may I present Dr. Hendricks?" said Galt.
"Not Dr, Thomas Hendricks?" she gasped, with the involuntary rudeness of a child; the name belonged to a great surgeon, who had retired and vanished six years ago.
"Yes, of course," said Galt.
Dr. Hendricks smiled at her, in answer. "Midas told me that Miss Taggart has to be treated for shock," he said, "not for the one sustained, but for the ones to come."
"I'll leave you to do it," said Galt, "while I go to the market to get supplies for breakfast."
She watched the rapid efficiency of Dr. Hendricks' work, as he examined her injuries. He had brought an object she had never seen before: a portable X-ray machine. She learned that she had torn the cartilage of two ribs, that she had sprained an ankle, ripped patches of skin off one knee and one elbow, and acquired a few bruises spread in purple blotches over her body. By the time Dr. Hendricks' swift, competent hands had wound the bandages and the tight lacings of tape, she felt as if her body were an engine checked by an expert mechanic, and no further care was necessary, "I would advise you to remain in bed, Miss Taggart."
"Oh no! If I'm careful and move slowly, I'll be all right."
"You ought to rest."
"Do you think I can?"
He smiled. "I guess not."
She was dressed by the time Galt came back. Dr. Hendricks gave him an account of her condition, adding, "I'll be back to check up, tomorrow."
"Thanks," said Galt. "Send the bill to me."
"Certainly not!" she said indignantly. "I will pay it myself."
The two men glanced at each other, in amusement, as at the boast of a beggar.
"We'll discuss that later," said Galt.
Dr. Hendricks left, and she tried to stand up, limping, catching at the furniture for support. Galt lifted her in his arms, carried her to the kitchen alcove and placed her on a chair by the table set for two.
She noticed that she was hungry, at the sight of the coffee pot boiling on the stove, the two glasses of orange juice, the heavy white pottery dishes sparkling in the sun on the polished table top.
"When did you sleep or eat last?" he asked.
"I don't know . . . I had dinner on the train, with-" She shook her head in helplessly bitter amusement: with the tramp, she thought, with a desperate voice pleading for escape from an avenger who would not pursue or be found-the avenger who sat facing her across the table, drinking a glass of orange juice. "I don't know . . . it seems centuries and continents away."
"How did you happen to be following me?"
"I landed at the Alton airport just as you were taking off. The man there told me that Quentin Daniels had gone with you."
"I remember your plane circling to land. But that was the one and only time when I didn't think of you. I thought you were coming by train."
She asked, looking straight at him, "How do you want me to understand that?"
"What?"
"The one and only time when you didn't think of me."
He held her glance; she saw the faint movement she had noted as typical of him: the movement of his proudly intractable mouth curving into the hint of a smile. "In any way you wish," he answered.
She let a moment pass to underscore her choice by the severity of her face, then asked coldly, in the tone of an enemy's accusation, "You knew that I was coming for Quentin Daniels?"
"Yes."
"You got him first and fast, in order not to let me reach him? In order to beat me-knowing fully what sort of beating that would mean for me?"
"Sure."
It was she who looked away and remained silent. He rose to cook the rest of their breakfast. She watched him as he stood at the stove, toasting bread, frying eggs and bacon. There was an easy, relaxed skill about the way he worked,