Atlas Shrugged [485]
"If you weren't, you'd know that it's not this valley, but the view of life held by men in the outer world that is a prehistorical mirage."
They heard the sound of the motor and saw the car stopping below, in front of the house. She noticed the swiftness with which he rose to his feet at the sight of Galt in the car; if it were not for the obvious personal eagerness, it would have looked like an instinctive gesture of military respect.
She noticed the way Galt stopped, when he entered and saw his visitor. She noticed that Galt smiled, but that his voice was oddly low, almost solemn, as if weighted with unconfessed relief,, when he said very quietly, "Hello."
"Hi, John," said the visitor gaily.
She noticed that their handshake came an instant too late and lasted an instant too long, like the handshake of men who had not been certain that their previous meeting would not be their last.
Galt turned to her. "Have you met?" he asked, addressing them both.
"Not exactly," said the visitor.
"Miss Taggart, may I present Ragnar Danneskjold?"
She knew what her face had looked like, when she heard Danneskjold's voice as from a great distance: "You don't have to be frightened, Miss Taggart I'm not dangerous to anyone in Galt's Gulch."
She could only shake her head, before she recaptured her voice to say, "It's not what you're doing to anyone . . . it's what they're doing to you. . . . "
His laughter swept her out of her moment's stupor, "Be careful, Miss Taggart. If that's how you're beginning to feel, you won't remain a scab for long." He added, "But you ought to start by adopting the right things from the people in Galt's Gulch, not their mistakes: they've spent twelve years worrying about me-needlessly." He glanced at Galt.
"When did you get in?" asked Galt.
"Late last night."
"Sit down. You're going to have breakfast with us."
"But where's Francisco? Why isn't he here yet?"
"I don't know," said Galt, frowning slightly. "I asked at the airport, just now. Nobody's heard from him."
As she turned to the kitchen, Galt moved to follow. "No," she said, "it's my job today."
"Let me help you."
"This is the place where one doesn't ask for help, isn't it?"
He smiled. "That's right."
She had never experienced the pleasure of motion, of walking as if her feet had no weight to carry, as if the support of the cane in her hand were merely a superfluous touch of elegance, the pleasure of feeling her steps trace swift, straight lines, of sensing the faultless, spontaneous precision of her gestures-as she experienced it while placing their food on the table in front of the two men. Her bearing told them that she knew they were watching her-she held her head like an actress on a stage, like a woman in a ballroom, like the winner of a silent contest.
"Francisco will be glad to know that it's you who were his stand-in today," said Danneskjold, when she joined them at the table.
"His what?"
"You see, today is June first, and the three of us-John, Francisco and I-have had breakfast together on every June first for twelve years."
"Here?"
"Not when we started. But here, ever since this house was built eight years ago." He shrugged, smiling. "For a man who has more centuries of tradition behind him than I have, it's odd that Francisco should be the first to break our own tradition."
"And Mr. Galt?" she asked. "How many centuries does he have behind him?"
"John? None at all. None behind him-but all of those ahead."
"Never mind the centuries," said Galt. "Tell me what sort of year you've had behind you. Lost any men?"
"No."
"Lost any of your time?"
"You mean, was I wounded? No. I haven't had a scratch since that one time, ten years ago, when I was still an amateur, which you ought to forget by now. I wasn't in any danger whatever, this year-in fact, I was much more safe than if I were running a small-town drugstore under Directive 10-289."
"Lost any battles?"
"No. The losses were all on the other side, this year. The looters lost most of their ships to me-and most of their men to you. You've