Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [460]
“Yes.”
She could not prevent the jolt of eagerness that threw her head up. “The secret of transforming energy—” she began, and stopped.
“I could tell it to you in fifteen minutes,” he said, in answer to the desperate plea she had not uttered, “but there’s no power on earth that can force me to tell it. If you understand this, you’ll understand everything that’s baffling you.”
“That night... twelve years ago . . . a spring night when you walked out of a meeting of six thousand murderers—that story is true, isn’t it?”
.“Yes.”
“You told them that you would stop the motor of the world.”
“I have.”
“What have you done?”
.“I’ve done nothing, Miss Taggart. And that’s the whole of my secret.”
She looked at him silently for a long moment. He stood waiting, as if he could read her thoughts. “The destroyer—” she said in a tone of wonder and helplessness.
“—the most evil creature that’s ever existed,” he said in the tone of a quotation, and she recognized her own words, “the man who’s draining the brains of the world.”
“How thoroughly have you been watching me,” she asked, “and for how long?”
It was only an instant’s pause, his eyes did not move, but it seemed to her that his glance was stressed, as if in special awareness of seeing her, and she caught the sound of some particular intensity in his voice as he answered quietly, “For years.”
She closed her eyes, relaxing and giving up. She felt an odd, light-hearted 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