Chapter 8 Chapter Eight With Our Love

The sunlight leaped up the treetops on the hillside, and against the blue sky, the crowns of the trees were blue and bright silver.Dagny stood at the door of the cabin, with the first ray of morning light shining on her forehead, and the forest stretching for miles under her feet.The leaves fell, from silver and green, to the shadows of the trees on the path, and turned into foggy blue.The light falls from the branches and leaves, and when it touches the moss on the ground, it is suddenly reflected upwards, and the moss is like a fountain of green light.Looking at the rhythm of the sun in the silence, she felt very comfortable.

Like every day, she wrote down the day on a piece of paper tacked to the wall.Like the records made by prisoners exiled on a desert island, the passage of days on paper is the only change in her frozen life.The date this morning was the twenty-eighth of May. She wanted to use these days to get results, but she didn't know if she got it.When she came here, she gave herself what seemed to be three orders: rest;She felt as though chained to a wounded stranger who would strike at any moment and drown her in his cries.She had no pity for the stranger, only contemptuous impatience; she had to wrestle with him, to destroy him, to clear her way, to decide what she wanted to do; easy to deal with.

The task of rest was easier, and she found that she liked the days when she was alone.When she woke up in the morning, she felt full of love, and she felt that she could go forward bravely and face anything.In the city, she's been living under constant pressure to take the brunt of irritation, rage, disgust, and contempt.The only threat to her here was some physical discomfort, but it was simple and easy in comparison. The wooden house is deserted and still maintains the style left by her father.She gathered wood from the side of the mountain and used a wood-fired stove to cook.She swept the dust from under the walls, re-roofed the house, and painted the door and window frames.Rain, weeds, and dust obscured a path of stone steps from the cabin to the hill.She cleared the stone steps, re-stacked stones, surrounded the sides of the soft dirt road with large round stones, and rebuilt the stone path.With great interest, she made complex lever and pulley structures out of scrap iron and rope, and then lifted rocks that were far beyond her strength.She sprinkled some nasturtium and morning glory seeds, watched them slowly spread on the ground, climbed up the tree trunk, watched them grow, watched the changes and vitality that happened slowly.

Working gave her the peace she needed; she didn't notice how and how she started; it was all unconscious, but she could see it growing under her hands, pulling her forward, Bring her a healing peace.That's when she understands that what she needs is purposeful action, no matter the size or form, step by step, over time, toward a set goal. Things like cooking are like a closed circle, let’s just leave it at that, and it’s nothing to worry about, but repairing the path has to be done bit by bit.Every day's work is meaningful, and all previous work is the starting point of the next day, and eternal life will be obtained in the next day that continues to come.For objective nature, she thought, there was nothing wrong with moving in a circle.They say that the static universe around us does only circular motions, but man is marked by straight lines, the geometrically abstract straight lines on which roads, railways, and bridges are built, the meandering wanderings through nature, the A straight line from the start to the end.Cooking, she thought, was like adding coal to a locomotive in order to make it go fast, but if it couldn't run, what stupid torture would it be to add coal to it?She thought that human life should not be a circle, or a series of circles left behind like zero—human life must be like a straight line of motion, from one goal to the next, constantly moving forward , to reach the end of the gradual accumulation, it is like walking on railroad tracks, from one station to the next, and then to—oh, don't think about it!

Don't think about it—she said sternly to herself silently, stifling the screams from the wounded stranger—don't think about it, don't think about it, just focus on your path, don't go Look beyond the foot of the mountain. She drove a few times to Woodstock, twenty miles away, to buy groceries and food.This small town was built decades ago with some reason and hope, but now it has been forgotten, and it is in decline and withering.There is no railway transportation, no electricity, and only one expressway built in the county, which also suffers year after year. The only shop in town was a small grocery store with cobwebs in the corners and a strip of wood in the center of the floor that had been soaked and rotted from the rain that had leaked through the roof.The shop owner, a fat, pale woman, did not mind the difficulty of walking.The groceries consisted of some dusty cans with faded stickers, a bit of rice, and a few rotting vegetables on an old cabinet outside the door. "Why don't you bring vegetables back from the sun?" Dagny had asked her.The woman looked at her blankly, as if she didn't understand why there was such a question. "They've always been there," she replied nonchalantly.

On the drive back to the cabin, Dagny looked up and watched a mountain stream fall heavily along a piece of granite rock, and the hanging spray was like a misty rainbow in the sun.It occurred to her that a hydroelectric plant could be built, just enough to power her cabin and Woodstock - which could produce more - the rare amount of wilderness she found on the hillside The apple trees, all left over from the orchards of the past—suppose someone raised them again, and built a mountain road to the nearest railway line—oh, forget it! "No kerosene today," the shopkeeper told her when she went to Woodstock again, "it rained Thursday night, and when it rained, the roads flooded and trucks couldn't come over Fairford Dam, The kerosene trucks won't come here until next month." "If you know the road is flooded every time it rains, why don't you fix it?" the woman replied, "It's always been that way."

On the way back, Dagny stopped at the top of the hill, overlooking the rolling fields below.She saw the county road winding its way through the swamp below the river near the Fairford Reservoir, stuck in a crevasse between two mountains.It would be easy to get around these hills, she thought, and build a road across the river—people in Woodstock have nothing to do, she can teach them—a road that goes straight to the southwest, which will be much closer, and then Upstate highways, in freight warehouses—oh, forget it! After dark, she put away the kerosene lamp and sat in the candlelit cabin, listening to music from a small portable radio.She wanted to find the symphony, and dialed quickly whenever she heard the screech of the news broadcast; she didn't want to hear anything about the city.

Don't think about the Taggart Railroad--she had said to herself the night before she came to the cabin--unless you hear its name the way you hear "South Atlantic" or "Consolidated Steel." .But as the weeks passed, the wound still refused to heal. She seemed to be fighting against the unforeseen cruelty of her own mind.She'd lie in bed, drift off to sleep—and find herself thinking suddenly that the conveyor belt at the Willow Bend coal station in Indiana was broken, which she had seen through the car window the last time she was there, and that she must Tell them to change it, or they'll—and then she'll be sitting up in bed screaming, don't think about it!Then she stopped thinking about it, but couldn't sleep all night.

At sunset she would sit in the doorway of the cabin and watch the swaying leaves grow quiet in the dusk—and then she would see the lights of fireflies rising from the meadow, flickering in every dark corner moving, blinking slowly, as if to give a brief warning—they were like signal lights flashing on a railroad at night—don't think about it! What scares her is the times when she can't stop, she can't stand up like physical pain, this pain is connected to her heart - she will fall to the ground in the cabin or in the woods, and bury her face in the chair Or on a stone, sitting still, struggling not to cry out, such a moment is like the body of a sympathizer, suddenly so close, so real: it is two railroad tracks that meet at a point in the distance, it is the locomotive Carrying the two letters TT, it came through the air, the heavy rhythmic sound of wheels rolling under the floor of her car, and the statue of Nate Taggart in the waiting hall.She tried desperately not to think about them, not to feel them, her body was stiff, only her face was buried in her arms and kept rolling, and she tried to repeat silently and monotonously with all the strength remaining in her consciousness These few words: forget about it.

When she can face her problems with the same calm and clarity as she thinks about engineering problems, she maintains long periods of calm.She knew that if she could convince herself that her crazy yearning for the railroad was unreasonable or wrong, the emotion would go away.But this yearning comes from her conviction that truth and right are hers - that enemies are irrational and unreal - when all her achievements are lost not to superpowers, but to those in weakness and A disgusting villain under impotent control, she could no longer set herself another goal and arouse her passion to achieve it.

She could give up the railroad, she thought; she could be content in this forest; but even if she could fix the trail, and go down to the road, and rebuild that road—then she could go all the way to Woodstock In front of Ke's shopkeeper, that's the end of it, and that empty, pale face that faces the world indifferently is the limit of her efforts.Why?She heard her own cry.no answer. Then you stay here, she thought, until you find out.You have nowhere to go, you can't move, you can't just start paving the way, unless...unless you can clearly pick a destination. In the long silent night, in the solitude of thinking of Reardon, she sat quietly, looking at the unreachable night sky beyond the faint light in the south.She wanted to see his unflinching face, the smiling, confident face looking at her.But she knew she couldn't meet him until she had won.She must be worthy of his smile, which was reserved for an opponent who could exchange courage with him, not for a poor wretch full of pain to find comfort in it, which would lose his original intention.He can help her live, but he cannot help her choose what she wants to live for. Ever since she marked May 15th on her calendar that morning, she has had a vague sense of anxiety.She forced herself to listen to the news broadcast once in a while, but she didn't hear his name mentioned.The last link she had with the city was her fear of him, which made her keep turning her eyes to the southern sky and the foot of the mountain.She found herself waiting for his arrival, found herself listening to the sound of the car, but sometimes it would take her joy in vain—it was just the flapping of the wings of some great bird suddenly rushing through the trees to the sky. . Yet another connection to the past remained like an unanswered question: Was it Quentin?Daniels, and the engine he's trying to recreate.On June 1st she was due to send him a monthly check.Should she tell him that she's quit, that she doesn't need that engine anymore, and no one else will?Should she tell him to stop, toss the remains of that engine in the same pile of trash as she had found it, and let it go?She couldn't do it, it was harder than getting her off the railroad.That engine, she was thinking, wasn't connected to the past: it was her last link to the future.Destroying it seemed not to be killing, but suicide: if she ordered it to stop, she was convinced that there would be no end in which she could continue to search. But it won't be -- she thought, standing at the door of the cabin on the morning of the twenty-eighth of May -- that the perfection of human intellect will not be tolerated by the future, never will be.Whatever her obsessions, she has remained unwavering in her belief that evil is abnormal and temporary.This morning, she felt it more clearly than ever: she firmly believed that the poorness of those city people and the pain she endured were a fleeting coincidence-and when she saw the sun-drenched forest, she felt full of joy. The smile of hope, that feeling of boundless promise, is permanent and real. She was standing by the door smoking a cigarette.A symphony from her grandfather's time came from the radio in the bedroom behind her.She didn't pay attention to it, but felt that the flowing notes seemed to echo the curling smoke, echoing the arc drawn by her arm when she brought the cigarette to her mouth.She closed her eyes and stood quietly, feeling the sun shining on her body.This is the achievement, she thought—to enjoy the moment, not let the traumatic memory numb her perception of the moment; as long as she could keep that feeling, she would be motivated. She barely noticed the faint noise that accompanied the music, a sound like the friction of old records as they were turned.Suddenly she realized that her hand had flicked the cigarette aside, and at the same time she realized that the growing noise was the sound of a car engine.Only then did she realize how much she was looking forward to hearing this voice, how much she was looking forward to the arrival of Hank Reardon.She heard herself smirking in a low voice, as if she didn't want to interrupt the humming sound of the spinning metal, which undoubtedly came from a car driving up the mountain road. She couldn't see the mountain road—all she could see was a little bit below the tree canopy at the foot of the mountain—but she did, through the tense, urgent sound of the engine growing louder as it climbed, and the screeching of the tires as they turned. The car drove up the hill. The car stopped under a tree.She didn't recognize the car—not the black Hammond, but a long gray convertible.She saw the driver coming down: she never dreamed it was him.It was Francisco d'Anconia. It wasn't disappointment that shocked her, but rather a feeling that had nothing to do with disappointment.The urgency made her stand strangely where she was, and she was suddenly convinced that something extremely important must have happened that she didn't know about. Francisco walked quickly up the hill. He looked up and saw her standing at the door of the wooden house, so he stopped.She couldn't see the expression on his face.He stood for a long time, raised his face to her, and then walked up. Almost as if she'd expected it, she felt like they were back in childhood.He came to her, not running, but walking upward with triumphant and confident desire.No, she thought, this wasn't their childhood—this was what she'd see in the future while she waited for him to break out of a cage.If the life she wanted came true, if the two of them walked the way she had always believed, this was a morning they would have in the future.Gripped by curiosity, she stood motionless looking at him in what seemed to her no present but a nod to the past. When he got closer so that she could see his expression clearly, she found that his solemn expression was filled with uncontrollable joy, showing the incomparable ease that a person with a pure heart can have.He was laughing and whistling, and the melody of the whistle was melodious, just like his brisk strides upwards.The melody sounded familiar to her, which made her feel that it fit the situation at this time, but she also felt that there was something strange in it, there must be something important, but she couldn't remember it at the moment. "Hey, Slug!" "Hi Fisco!" She knew—the way he looked at her, the momentary closing of his eyelids, the slight effort he made to tilt his head back, the helpless and relaxed faint smile on his lips, when he grabbed her suddenly The thrusting arm—it was all involuntary, not his will, and it couldn't have been more appropriate for the two of them. He held her tight, his mouth hurting on hers, and his body opened up to her with joy, and it wasn't just a sudden impulse - she knew that physical hunger couldn't make a man like that. Crazy—she knew that at this moment she heard the words he had never said, which was the greatest confession of love a man could make. No matter how much he ruined his life, he was still the Francisco d'Anconia she could devote herself to with pride - no matter what betrayals she encountered in this world The idea of ​​the idea remains the same, and some part of it is still indestructible in his body - thinking of this, her body responds, her arms hug him tightly, her lips kiss him, revealing She betrayed her desire, the affection she had given him and would always give him. Then the memory of his later days came back to her, and the more remarkable he was, the more sinful the self-destruction he had done, and she felt a deep sting at the thought.She broke free from his arms, shaking her head, saying "no" to herself and to him at the same time. He stood there, looking at her with a calm smile, "It's not yet time, you have to forgive me a lot of things first. But now I can tell you everything." Never before had she heard such a low, oppressive desperation in his voice.He's trying to control himself, and there's an almost childlike apology in his smile, but there's also an adult self-deprecating, laughing out that he doesn't have to hide his struggle because he's wrestling with him Together is happiness, not pain. She stepped back from his side; it seemed to her that emotion rushed ahead of her own consciousness, and that questions were only now catching up with her, fumbling for the proper words. "Dagny, the kind of torture you've been going through here for the past month... You must answer me honestly... Do you think you could have taken it twelve years ago?" "No," she replied; he smiled. "Why are you asking this?" "Make up for twelve years of my life, and I don't have to regret it." "What are you talking about? And,"—the question finally came to her mind—"and how do you know I'm tormented here?" "Dagny, haven't you realized that I know all about this?" "What are you...Francisco! What was that whistle that you were whistling when you went up the mountain?" "Oh, am I blowing? I don't know." "You're playing Richard Haley's Fifth Concerto, aren't you?" "Oh...!" He was taken aback, laughed at himself mockingly, and then said seriously, "I'll tell you about that later." "How did you find me here?" "I'll tell you that too." "You forced Eddie to say it." "I haven't seen Eddie in over a year." "Only he knows I'm here." "It wasn't Eddie who told me." "I don't want anyone to find me." He looked around slowly, and she noticed that his eyes rested for a moment on her paved stone path, her planted flowers, and her newly repaired roof.He smiled dumbly, as if he understood, but also seemed hurt, "You shouldn't have come here for a month," he said, "My God, how could you do this! This is the first time I don't want to miscalculate. Miscalculation. I didn't think you were ready to quit, and if I had known, I would have been watching you all day." "Really? Why?" "I won't let you—" he pointed to the work she did, "do it." "Francisco," she said in a low voice, "if you care about my torture, don't you understand that I don't want to hear it from you because—" She paused; Didn't complain about anything in his presence; she just said dryly, "—just because I don't want to hear it?" "Because I'm the only one in the world who doesn't have the right to say that? Dagny, if you think I don't know how much I've hurt you, I can tell you about the years I've been... but it's all over, oh, Honey, it's over!" "yes?" "Forgive me, I can't say that yet, it will have to wait until you say it." He tried his best to control his voice, but the expression of joy was beyond words. "Are you so happy because I lost everything I've fought for my whole life? Well, if that's what you came to hear, then I say: I lost you first - and now you see I lost Do you feel happy about everything else?" He was staring straight at her, eyes narrowed with such longing that it was almost threatening, and she knew that whatever the years had meant to him, "happy" wasn't what she was supposed to be talking about . "You really think so?" he asked. She whispered, "No." "Dagny, we will never lose what we are after. If we make mistakes, we may have to change their form sometimes, but we can do it any way, and the goal is the same." "That's what I've been saying to myself for a month, but all the paths to the goal are gone." He didn't answer.He sat on a rock by the door of the cabin and watched her, as if he didn't want to miss the slightest reaction on her face. "What do you think of people who leave and disappear now?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders, and there was a little helpless sadness in her faint smile, and sat on the ground beside him. "You know," she said, "I used to think some Destroyer wouldn't let them go, made them give up. But it doesn't seem to be. There have been times in the past month when I almost wished he'd come to me too. , but no one came." "are not there?" "No. I used to think he gave them some unimaginable reason to betray everything they loved. But it wasn't necessary. I knew how they felt, and I couldn't blame them anymore. What I didn't know was, After that, how did any of them survive, if any of them survived." "Do you think you betrayed Taggart Transportation?" "No, I... I feel like I'm going to betray it if I keep working there." "you will." "If I agree to serve the Marauders, then...then I send them Nate Taggart. I can't, I can't end up with him and my work in the hands of the Marauders." "No, you can't. Do you think that's callous? Don't you think you love the railroad less than you did a month ago?" "I thought I could give my whole life to be on the railroad for another year...but I can't go back there." "Then you understand how they feel, and you understand what kind of love all the people who give up give up." "Francisco," she asked, with her head down, without looking at him, "why do you ask me if I would have given it up twelve years ago?" "Don't you know what night I'm thinking about just like you are?" "I know..." she whispered. "That's the night I gave up on D'Anconia Copper." She slowly raised her head and looked at him with difficulty.His face was the same expression she had seen that morning twelve years ago: the expression on his stern face that looked smiling, the expression of calm triumph over pain, the expression he An expression of pride that you paid the price yourself and thought it was worth it. "But you didn't give it up," she said. "You didn't leave. You're still the president of D'Anconia Copper, but it means nothing to you now." "It means as much to me now as it did that night." "Then how do you let it fall apart?" "Dagny, you are much luckier than I am. The Taggart Company is a precise and precise machine, it will not last long without you, and it cannot be run by enslaved coolies. They will take it for you Destroy mercifully and you won't watch it serve looters. But copper mines are an easy job and D'Anconia Copper can survive decades in the hands of looters and slaves , as cruel and tragic and stupid as it was - it will last and it will keep them alive. I have to destroy it with my own hands." "You—what?" "I was destroying D'Anconia Copper, consciously, on purpose, through planning and my own hands. I had to plan and work as carefully as I created wealth - just so they wouldn't notice and stop me , in order not to let the copper mine fall into their hands before it was completely destroyed. I gave all my heart and soul that I hoped to pour into D'Anconia, just... just to keep it from growing. I'm going to feed this The last piece of the looters' company, the last penny of my fortune and every ounce of copper. I will not keep what I have found - I will give it back to Sebastian Di'an d'Anconia—to make them no longer able to rely on him and me, to survive by themselves!" "Francisco!" she exclaimed, "how could you do that?" "For the love I have as you do," he replied quietly, "for the d'Anconia Corporation, for the spirit that has shaped it. It was—and one day it will be. It will be like that." She sat there speechless, trying to understand all this with her brain that had been numb from shock.The symphony on the radio continued to play in the silence, and the music seemed to be walking towards her with slow and solemn steps. She was struggling, and the days and nights of the past twelve years immediately appeared before her eyes: the pain The boy who fell on her chest for help—the man who sat on the living room floor, playing billiards and laughing at the destruction of big corporations—the one who refused, yelling “Honey, I can’t!” The man who went to help her—the man who, in the dark bar, drank a glass of the years Sebastian d'Anconia had been waiting for..."Francisco ...I've made all sorts of speculations about you...I never thought...I never thought you were one of those who gave up..." "I was the first one to give up." "I thought they always disappeared..." "Well, isn't that what I do? Isn't that the worst I've ever done to you by showing you a cheesy playboy instead of the Francisco d'Anconia you know something?" "Yes..." she said softly, "but the worst thing is that I don't believe... I never believed... Every time I see you, I still see Francisco d'Anconi Ya..." "I know, I know how it hits you. I tried to help you understand, but it was too early to tell you. Dagny, on that night, or when you The day Dean Mines came to reprimand me—if I told you I wasn't an idler, I'd make D'Anconia, Taggart, Witt Oil, Reardon Steel The accelerated demise of corporations, and everything we hold sacred—would you find it easier to accept?" "It's going to be harder," she whispered, "even now, I'm not sure I'll be able to accept your and my respective abandonment... But, Francesco"—she looked up at him suddenly—" If this is your secret, then of all that you have hurt, I am..." "Yes, my dear, yes, you are the one who hurts the most!" In this desperate cry, accompanied by laughter and relief, it shows that he wants to wipe all the pain away.He grabbed her hand, put his mouth on it, and buried his face on it, preventing her from seeing all his feelings over the years. "If that's not reparation...whatever I did to hurt you, that's what I paid for it...I knew how it hurt you and had to do it...and then Waiting, waiting...but it's all over." He raised his head and smiled. From the tender love on his face, she knew that he had seen her despair. "Dagny, don't think about it. I won't use the pain I've suffered as an excuse. Regardless of why I did it in the first place, I know what I did and I hurt you deeply. I will Make it up over the years. Forget"—she understood he meant what he had shown in the embrace just now—"forget what I haven't said yet. Of all the things I'm going to say to you, I'm going to Save it for the last." However, his eyes, his smile, and his fingers on her wrist were speaking disobediently. "You've suffered so much and you've had to understand and figure out a lot of things in order to get rid of the scars you didn't deserve. The most important thing now is that you are free to recover, both of us Free, don't worry about those looters, they are no longer a threat to us." She spoke, her voice calm and mournful, "That's what I came here for - to figure things out. But I can't. Leave everything to the marauders and live under their rule I can't give up and go back, I can't live without doing anything, and I can't be like a slave in hard labor. I used to think that as long as I didn't give up, it was right to fight. Now I think When we should fight against them, it is not necessarily right for the two of us to leave. But there is no way to fight them. Our departure is surrender, and staying is also surrender. I can no longer tell what is right gone." "Think about your premise, Dagny, there is no contradiction at all." "But I can't find the answer, I can't curse what you have done, but what I feel is horror-both admiration and horror. As a descendant of d'Anconia, you are completely capable of surpassing your magical ancestors, but you And I use my incomparable talents to destroy. And I - a railroad system across the country is collapsing at the hands of a group of smug villains, while I play with rocks and repair roofs. You and I can decide the fate of the world people, it must be our own fault if we let it go on like this. But I don't see what we've done wrong." "Yes, Dagny, that is our own fault." "Is it because we haven't done enough?" "It's because we're doing too much—receiving too little." "what?" "We never claimed the debt the world owed us—we let the richest reward go to the scum of the people. The mistake was made centuries ago, and it was Cy Bastian D'Anconia, Nate Taggart, and everyone who feeds all humanity without a single thank you. Don't you know what's right? Dagny, this Not a war of material interests, it is the worst and last moral crisis ever. Evil is at its peak in our time, and we must end it once and for all, or we are the ones who perish - brains People. It is our own sin that we created the riches of the world - but let our enemies write its moral code." "But we have never acknowledged their standards, we live by our own standards." "Yes—and paying a ransom for it! This ransom includes both material and spiritual aspects—in terms of money, our enemies did not deserve it but got it; in terms of honor, we deserved it but did not get it. We It is our sin to be willing to give. We feed mankind, but we allow them to despise us and worship those who destroy us. We allow them to worship the incompetent and the cruel, the free and the profligate. Because of our By accepting the punishment for our virtues, not our vices, we betray our codes, and give them a chance. Theirs, Dagny, is the morality of a kidnapper, and they take us对美德的热爱当做人质。他们知道，你为了能工作和创造，愿意去忍受一切，因为你把成就当做人的最高道德追求，离开它就无法生存，你热爱美德就是在热爱你的生命。他们就希望你去承受这些重负，他们就希望你觉得，为了爱所做的努力是永远不够的。达格妮，你的敌人是借助了你自己的力量来把你摧垮。你的大度和忍耐是他们仅有的武器。你不求回报的正直便是他们唯一能利用的工具。他们了解这一点，而你并不了解，他们最害怕的就是有一天你会发现它。你一定要学着去了解他们，不做到这一点，你就逃不出他们的手心。而你一旦做到了，你就会理直气壮地愤怒，乃至会把塔格特公司的每一根铁轨都炸光，也不会让它为他们服务。” “但是会把它留给他们！”她哽咽了，“扔掉它……扔掉塔格特公司……它是……它简直就是一个活生生的人……” “它过去的确是，现在再也不是了。给他们留下吧，它对他们一点用处都没有。让它走吧，我们用不着它。我们可以重新修建一个，他们不行。我们可以不靠它生活，他们活不下去。” “可我们却落到了放弃和退缩的地步！” “达格妮，只有我们这些被人类灵魂的刽子手们称做'物质至上者'的人，才明白那样的物质的价值和意义是多么的微不足道，因为正是我们创造了它们的价值和意义。为了换回更珍贵的东西，我们可以短暂地舍弃它们。我们是灵魂，而铁路、铜矿、钢厂和油井就是身体——只要它们不离开我们，只要它们一直作为成就的表达、奖赏和财产而存在，它们就像我们的心一样鲜活，每时每刻都在搏动，庄严地支撑着人的生命。离开了我们，它们便是一堆死尸，生产的不是财富和粮食，而是会将人们瓦解成一群群吃腐肉的游民的毒药。达格妮，看清你自身力量的本质，你就能解开你身边的那些矛盾。不是你一定要依赖于任何的物质，是它们要去依赖你，你创造了它们，你拥有这仅有的一件创造工具。无论你走到哪里，你总是能够去创造。但那些掠夺者们——按他们自己所说的理论——则一辈子都摆脱不了他们先天就有的需要，只能听任物质的随意摆布。你为什么不相信他们的话？他们需要铁路、工厂、矿山和发动机，但他们既造不出来，也不会管理，离开你，你的铁路对他们又有什么用？是谁能让它运转起来，是谁让它能有活力？是谁一次又一次地去挽救了它？是你哥哥詹姆斯吗？是谁在养着他？谁在养着那些掠夺者们？谁为他们制造了武器？谁把奴役你的工具给了他们？叫人不可思议的是天才创造出来的一切却掌控在无能的小人们手里——是谁促使了它的发生？是谁支持了你的敌人，打造了捆绑你的锁链，毁灭了你的成果？” 她像是被无声的呐喊刺激得一下挺直了身体，他则像弹簧一般腾地站了起来，声音依旧是得胜般地冷酷无情：“你现在开始意识到了，对不对？达格妮！给他们那些已经死掉的铁路，给他们那些生锈的铁轨、腐烂的枕木和报废的发动机——但不要把你的头脑留给他们！不要把你的头脑留给他们！它关系到今后这个世界的命运！” “女士们，先生们，”收音机的交响曲被广播员惊慌失措的声音打断了，“现在我们中断此次广播，带给你们一条特别消息。今天凌晨，在位于科罗拉多州温斯顿市的塔格特铁路公司的主干道上，发生了铁路史上最严重的事故，著名的塔格特隧道遭到了彻底的毁坏！” 她的惊叫简直就像是在最后一刻从隧道的黑暗之中发出来的一样，这声音一直在他的耳旁回响。他们冲进木屋，呆呆地站在收音机前，她的眼睛愣愣地盯着收音机，他的眼睛则一直盯着她的脸。 “事故的详情从卢克？比尔那里获悉，他是塔格特公司主力豪华列车彗星号上的司炉工，于今早在隧道的西端被发现时，已经昏迷不醒，看来他是这场灾难中唯一的幸存者。据初步分析，向西开往旧金山的彗星特快令人吃惊地违反了安全规程，在燃煤蒸汽机车的牵引下驶入了隧道。塔格特隧道全长八英里，由内特内尔·塔格特的孙子在使用柴油电力机车的无烟时代所修建，它贯穿了洛基山的山峰，被认为是当今工程史上一项无与伦比的伟大成就。隧道通风系统的设计并不适合烟气排放量很大的燃煤机车——而该地区的每一位铁路员工都知道，列车用这样的机车牵引进入隧道，将会导致车上所有的人窒息丧生。尽管如此，彗星特快仍然接到了这样的命令。根据司炉工比尔所说，列车进入隧道三英里后，便已经感觉到了煤烟的作用。列车司机乔？司各特将节气阀彻底打开，拼命想提高车速，但很长的车身带来的自重以及上坡行驶令年久老化的机车力不从心。司机和司炉工只能勉强维持这台渗漏的蒸汽机车以四十英里的时速穿过不断加重的浓烟——此时，某位已经毫无疑问地感觉出呼吸困难的乘客拉下了紧急制动闸。突如其来的刹车显然折断了机车的进气管，因为列车已经无法再次启动。车厢里传出人们的惊叫声，乘客们正纷纷将车窗砸碎。司机司各特发疯一般地拼命想要启动发动机，但终因吸入煤气过多，倒在了节气阀前。司炉工比尔从机车上跳下逃跑。当他已经可以看见隧道的西口时，便听到爆炸的巨响，马上就昏了过去。我们从温斯顿车站的铁路员工那里了解到了事件的发展状况：一列向西行驶、满载着爆炸物品的军队货运专列没有得到彗星特快就在前方的警告信号。这两趟列车都已经晚点。据称，由于隧道的信号系统出了故障，货运专列接到了在行进时可不必理睬信号的命令。据称，尽管有限速的规定，并且明知道通风系统会经常出现故障，但所有的火车司机在经过隧道时仍旧会心照不宣地全速行驶。根据掌握的现有情况来看，彗星特快正好停在了隧道急转弯的前方。据信，车上的乘客那时都已死亡。很难相信货运专列的司机在以八十英里的时速转弯时能够及时发现彗星特快尾部的观察窗，该窗口的照明在离开温斯顿车站时非常醒目。现在知道的情况是，货运专列撞上了彗星特快的尾部。专列上货物的爆炸震碎了五英里之外的农舍窗户玻璃，并使得隧道上方的岩石大量塌落，救援人员现在只能前进到距离任何一趟列车三英里以外的地方。没有人指望能发现幸存者，塔格特隧道也不可能会再次重建。” 她呆呆地站着，似乎眼前看到的不是身边的房间，而是科罗拉多的现场。突然，她浑身痉挛般地一颤，像梦游似的四处转身找她的手提包，仿佛那是现在唯一还剩下的东西，她抓过它，旋风一样地冲到门口，跑了出去。 “达格妮！”他拼命叫着，“不要回去！” 这喊声仿佛是从远远的科罗拉多山脉另外一边发出来的，她根本就听不见。 他从后面追了上来，一把将她的两只胳膊同时拽住，喊叫道，“不要回去！达格妮！为了你认为的神圣的一切，不要回去！” 她像是根本不认识他一样，如果单比力气，拧断她的手臂对他来说简直是易如反掌，但她像是个拼死求生的动物一样，猛地从他的手里挣脱，同时把他闪了个趔趄。等他站稳脚跟时，她已经向山下跑去——像他当初听到里尔登厂里的警报声那样，她直奔停在下面路上的汽车。 他的辞呈就放在他身前的桌子上面——詹姆斯·塔格特躬身坐在那里，咬牙切齿地盯着它。他似乎觉得他的敌人不是上面的这些话，而是将言语呈现出来的这张纸和墨水。他一向认为思想和言语起不了什么决定作用，但一个实实在在的东西却是他这辈子都在竭力逃避的：那就是承诺。 他还没有下决心辞职——还没有完全决定，他心想：他写这封信的目的对他来说就是“预防万一”。他觉得这封信是一种防范；但他还没在上面签名，这是他对这种防范所采取的防范措施。让他切齿痛恨的是那些使他无法继续这样下去的事情。 他今天上午八点得知这场灾难；中午的时候，他来到了办公室。尽管他实在不愿承认理智带给他的直觉，但直觉还是告诉他，这次他必须要到场。 在这样一场他熟知的牌局里，被他当成王牌的那些人都不见了。克里夫顿？洛西凭借着医生的诊断声明躲了起来，医生说，洛西先生由于心脏状况不佳，现在不能受打扰。塔格特的一个高级助理据说是头一天晚上就去了波士顿，另一个出人意料地被一个说不出名字的医院叫去，看护他那个平白冒出来的父亲。总工程师家里的电话无人接听，负责公关的副总人也不见了。 在来办公室的路上，塔格特看见了街上特大新闻的黑体字。走在塔格特公司的楼道里，他听见了从某人办公室的收音机喇叭里传出的说话声，通常，从暗无灯光的街角才会听到这样的声音：它在高喊着要将铁路收归国有。 他穿过走廊的时候，脚步声很响，为的是让人能看见他，同时又很急，因为不想被谁拦住问问题。他锁上了办公室的门，吩咐了秘书他不见任何人，不接任何电话，并告诉所有来人，塔格特先生正忙着。 然后，他怀着苍白的恐惧，独自坐在桌前。他感觉自己被困在地下室里，上了的锁再也无法被打开了；又觉得他是被绑在陈列架上，全城的人都在下面看着他，便盼着那把锁能永远不被打开。他不得不来到办公室，这是对他的要求，他不得不无聊地坐在这里等着——等待他所不知道的事情降临在他身上并且决定他的行动——他既害怕有人会来找他，又害怕这个无人到来的事实，没人告诉他该怎么办。 外间办公室响起的电话铃声听起来像是在求援。他看了看大门，恶毒而得意地想着那些声音都被他秘书和善的身躯挡在了外面，这个年轻人唯一擅长的就是逃避，干这个的时候一点也不脸红。这些声音，塔格特心想，是来自于科罗拉多，来自塔格特系统的各个中心，来自这座楼里的每一间办公室。只要他用不着去听，他就还算安全。 他的想法已经在身体里凝结得如同一个凝固、结实、不透明的球，对此，管理塔格特系统的人们谁都无法参透，他们只是一群需要被哄骗的对手而已。令他感到更加害怕的是那些董事会里的人们，但他的辞职信可以令他从火中逃生，而让他们在火里纠缠。最令他害怕的是想到那些在华盛顿的人。如果他们打来电话，他就不得不接——他的那个善于见风使舵的秘书能听得出谁的声音可以不受他命令的约束。但华盛顿方面没有打电话来。 恐惧在他的体内一阵阵发作着，令他口干舌燥。他不知道他怕的是什么。他知道威胁并非来自那个收音机里说话的人。他从这个咆哮的声音里体会到的更像是一种他已经预感到的恐惧，如同他会穿剪裁合体的礼服和去发表午餐讲演一样，那是他的位置带来的职责上的恐惧。但在这恐惧的下面，他感到有一丝微弱的希望，偷偷摸摸地像是蟑螂飞快而隐蔽的爬行一般：假如那个恐惧真的出现，一切就都解决了，他就不用去做任何决定，不用去签辞职信……他不再会是塔格特公司的总裁，可别人也不会……别人也不会……他坐在那里盯着办公桌，把眼睛和脑子的注意力分散开来，就如同他是沉浸在一团迷雾之中，拼命不想让它聚显出任何的形状。对于能够辨认的东西，他可以拒绝去辨认，从而对它视而不见。 他没有分析科罗拉多发生的事情，没有试图去弄清事情的起因，不想考虑这些事情的后果，他不去思考。情感结成的球如同是他胸腔内沉甸甸的一块东西，填充着他的意识，使他能够放下思考的责任。这个球是仇恨——仇恨便是他仅有的答案，便是这个唯一的现实。仇恨得没有对象，没有原因，没有开始和结束，仇恨便是他对全世界的要求。仇恨就是正义、权利，就是绝对。 电话在寂静之中叫了起来。他知道，这并不是在向他求助，而是在向被他窃取的这个实体请求。这个实体正在被求救声从他的身边拽走，他仿佛感到铃声不再是声音，变成了不断的击打，向他的脑壳上砍来。仇恨的对象似乎在铃声的召唤下开始成形，结实的圆球在他的体内炸开，把他摔得像一只无头的苍蝇。 他冲出办公室，对周围的人一脸不屑，一直跑到走廊另一头的业务部，进了业务副总办公室的外间。 办公室的门开着：越过空荡荡的桌子，他看到了巨大的玻璃窗外的天空。随后，他看到身边的外间工作人员，以及艾迪·威勒斯从玻璃隔间里露出的金黄色的头顶。他直奔艾迪·威勒斯而去，一把将玻璃门拽开，站在门口，当着全屋人的面，喊叫道：“她在哪儿？” 艾迪·威勒斯慢慢地站了起来，用一种奇怪的顺从眼神看着塔格特，仿佛在所有他见过的奇迹当中，这又是一个值得让他去好好看看的。He didn't answer. "Where is she?" "I can't tell you." “听着，你这个死硬的小混蛋，现在还没到庆祝的时候呢！如果你想让我觉得你是不知道她在哪里的话，我根本就不信！你知道，并且必须告诉我，否则我会把你告到联合理事会去！我会向他们发誓你知道——到了那个时候，你再证明你不知道试试看！” 艾迪回答的声音里带着隐隐的惊讶：“我可从没想表示我不知道她在哪里。我知道，但我不会告诉你。” 塔格特因为失算，嗓门一下子高得刺耳而有气无力，“你清不清楚你在说些什么？” “怎么了，当然清楚。” “你要再重复一遍吗，”他朝屋子里把手一挥，“当着这些证人的面？” 艾迪略微提了提声音，嗓门没有加大多少，但更加准确而清晰：“我知道她在哪里，但我不会告诉你。” “你承认你是个帮助了逃跑者的同谋？” “那是你愿意这么说。” “可这是犯罪！这是对国家的犯罪。难道你不明白吗？” "No." “这是违法的！” "right." “现在正处于全国紧急状态！你无权隐藏任何个人秘密！你是在隐瞒重要的情况！我是铁路的总裁！我命令你告诉我！你不能拒绝执行命令！这种行为是要受到惩罚的！你明白不明白？” "clear." “你还要拒绝吗？” "right." 凭着多年的经验，塔格特能够不露痕迹地观察出身边每个人的反应。他发现周围的员工神情紧张而严峻，没有一个站在他的一边。大家的脸上都带着绝望，但只有艾迪不是这样。只有这个塔格特公司的“世代奴隶”似乎毫不为这场灾难所动，他万念俱灰地望着塔格特，像是一位学者遭遇到了一个他一直不愿面对的问题。 “你知不知道你是个叛徒？”塔格特吼着。 艾迪静静地问道，“背叛的是谁？” “是人民！包庇逃跑者就是对国家的叛逆！就是对经济的叛逆！养活人民才是你的首要责任，高于其他一切！所有法律都是这样规定的！难道你不清楚吗？难道你不知道它们会怎样处罚你吗？” “难道你看不出我对此根本就无所谓么？” “哦，是吗？我会把你说的这些话告诉联合理事会！这些证人都可以作证你说过——” “别为证人的事操心了，吉姆，用不着让他们出头露面，我会写下我所说过的话，并签上名，然后你可以拿着它去理事会。” 塔格特像是挨了一个嘴巴那样突然咆哮了起来：“你以为你是谁，竟敢对抗政府？你一个小小的办公室里的可怜虫又算得了什么，也敢对国家政策品头论足，还敢有自己的看法？你觉得国家会去理睬你的看法、你的愿望，或者你那点宝贵的良心吗？一定得教训教训你——还有所有你们这些人！——所有你们这些被惯坏了的、自我放纵的、没有纪律性的、又什么都不是的小职员们，整天神气活现，就好像你们的那点权利有多重要似的！得让你们明白明白，现在可不是内特·塔格特那个时候了！” 艾迪一句话也不说。他们隔着桌子，互相对视着。塔格特的脸已经惊恐得走了形，艾迪的脸上则依旧沉着严峻如初。詹姆斯·塔格特实实在在地看到了像艾迪·威勒斯这样的人的存在；艾迪·威勒斯难以相信这世上会存在着如詹姆斯·塔格特这样的人。 “你认为国家会在乎你和她怎么想吗？”塔格特叫喊道，“她有责任回来！她有责任去工作！我们管她想不想工作干吗？我们需要她。” “你需要她吗，吉姆？” 出于本能的自我保护，塔格特在艾迪·威勒斯异常平静的声音面前不禁倒退了一步。但艾迪没有逼进上来，他依然站在桌子后面，保持着在一间办公室里所应有的样子。 “你找不到她，”他说，“她是不会回来的，我为她高兴。你可以走投无路，可以关了铁路，可以把我投进监狱，可以枪毙我——那又怎么样？我不会告诉你她在哪里。就算我看见整个国家都崩溃了，我也不会告诉你。你找不到她。你——” 屋门猛地开了，他们一下子转过头去，只见达格妮正站在门口。 她穿了一件发皱的棉布裙，在数小时的开车奔波之后，她的头发一片蓬乱。她在周围目光的注视下停了停，仿佛是在重新审视这个地方，但她的目光扫过屋子，仿佛只是在飞快地清点屋里的东西，对所有的人都视若无睹。她的面容变了，令她显出几分苍老的并非是皱纹，而是一副冷若冰霜、全然没了半点恻隐之情的冷酷。 人们还未来得及感到震惊和诧异，一股如释重负的气氛已经顿时传遍了整个屋子。这气氛传染到了每个人的脸上，唯独没有给艾迪·威勒斯。刚才还异常镇静的他，颓然坐下，脸一下子垂到了桌子上；他没有出声，但却肩膀一抖一抖地啜泣着。 她的脸上没有向任何人打招呼或问候的表示，仿佛她不可避免地要出现在这里，根本用不着再说什么。她径直向她的办公室门口走去，经过秘书的桌子时，她的嗓音不温不火，如同是办公机器发出的声音：“叫艾迪进来。” 詹姆斯·塔格特第一个动了起来，像是害怕她从视线里消失一样。他跟在她后面冲了进去，嚷道：“我是无能为力呀！”随即，他便缓过神来，又恢复了常态，叫着：“都是你的错！这是你干的！要怪你！因为你走了！” 他在纳闷他的叫喊是不是他自己耳朵里的幻觉。她面无表情，但向他转过了身，看上去她似乎听到了声音，却没有听到他说的话，没有觉得他是在同她交流。一时间，他从没有像现在这样真切地感觉到了自己的不存在。 接着，他注意到她的神情有了些许细微的变化，那也只是表明她的眼里看到了有人出现而已，不过她的目光从他的身上越过，他转身一看，艾迪·威勒斯已经走进了办公室。 从艾迪的眼里仍然看得出泪水的痕迹，但他并没有试图去掩盖，而是挺直了身子站着，似乎他和她一样，都认为眼泪或是窘迫，乃至因此而感到的抱歉都与他们毫不相干。 她说：“给瑞恩打电话，告诉他我在这里，然后让我和他说话。”瑞恩曾是铁路中部地区的总经理。 艾迪像是警告她似的没有立即答话，然后用像她一样平稳的声音说：“瑞恩已经走了，达格妮，他上星期辞的职。” 他们就如同是没有留意到身边的摆设一样，对塔格特毫不理睬。她甚至连命令他离开她办公室这样的示意都不给他。他像是个中风的病人，鼓起勇气，挪着不听使唤的身子溜了出去。但他确定了现在要做的第一件事，就是跑回他的办公室，把他的辞职信撕毁。 她望着艾迪，压根儿没注意到他的离开。“诺兰在吗？”她问。 “不在，他走了。” “安德鲁呢？” "gone." “麦归尔呢？” "gone." 接着，他静静地把近一个月来已经辞职，同时又是她此刻最需要找的那些人挨个向她说了一遍。她听着，没有流露出丝毫的惊讶，仿佛是听着在战斗中全体阵亡者的名单一样，谁先倒下已经不重要了。 他说完后，她没有再说什么，却问：“今天早晨到现在，都做了什么？” “什么也没做。” "did nothing?" “达格妮，今天啊怕是个普通的办事员下了一道命令，大家都会乖乖地服从的。但就算是个办事员，他的心里也清楚，今天谁先动一下，等到开始互相推诿的时候，他就要为今后、现在和过去所出的事负责了。他挽救不了整个系统，等到他救活了一个分公司，他的工作也已经保不住了。什么都没做，一切全停了。要是有什么还在动的话，也是在瞎动——因为在底下铁路上的人不知道是应该接着干还是应该停下来。部分列车被停在了站里，其余的还在走，还在等着开到科罗拉多之前能被停下来，这全凭当地调度的一句话。楼下终点站的经理已经取消了今天所有的长途车次，也包括今晚的彗星特快。我不知道旧金山的经理在做什么。目前，只有在隧道的营救人员还在工作。他们现在离出事地点还很远呢，我觉得他们根本到不了事故现场。” “给下面终点站的经理打电话，通知他立即按计划恢复所有的长途列车通行，包括今晚的彗星特快，然后回这里来。” 他回来后，她正伏身于摊在桌子上的一张地图面前，随后，她一边说，他一边飞快地记录着：“命令所有在内布拉斯加州科比市以南的西行列车绕道走通往哈斯汀的支线，接上去堪萨斯州劳力尔的西堪萨斯铁路线，然后在俄克拉何马州的贾斯珀接上南大西洋的铁路线，向西走到亚利桑那州的福拉斯塔，然后向北沿福拉斯塔至侯姆戴尔的铁路线到犹他州的艾金，向北到米德兰，到通往盐湖城的瓦萨其铁路线向西北走。瓦萨其是一家没人要的窄轨道铁路公司，把它买下来，把轨道扩成标准宽度。要是卖主因为出售不合法而害怕的话，付他双倍的价钱，然后就开始干。堪萨斯的劳力尔到俄克拉何马的贾斯珀之间没有铁道——是三英里，艾金到米德兰之间没有铁道——是五英里半，把铁轨铺上。命令建筑队立即开工——把当地的人都雇上，给他们规定的双倍、三倍工资，答应他们的任何条件——命令三班轮换——用一个通宵把活儿干完。至于铁轨，可以把科罗拉多州温斯顿和银泉，犹他州利兹和内华达州本森的副线拆掉。要是联合理事会在当地的小喽？们出来阻止的话，找你信得过的当地人去买通他们。这笔钱不要通过财务部，记到我的账上，我会付的。如果他们发现行不通的话，让他们告诉那些小喽？，10－289号法令没有对地方法令做出规定，如果他们想阻拦我们的话，就得搬出当地的法规，并且得告我才行。” "Is that so?" “我怎么知道？又有谁知道呢？但等他们明白过来，决定好怎么办的时候，咱们的铁轨就已经修好了。” "I understand." “我会把单子再看一遍，然后告诉你我们在当地的负责人的名字——假如他们还在的话。等今晚的彗星特快到内布拉斯加州科比市的时候，铁道就已经准备好了。这样一来，长途列车的时间会增加三十六个小时——但至少可以有一个长途车的时刻表了。然后，让他们替我找出在内特·塔格特的孙子修建隧道前我们的那份老的路况地图。” “这……什么？”他虽然没有提高声音，但语气还是流露出了他尽力掩饰的情绪。 她神情依旧，只是声音里多了一分柔和而非责难的成分，对他说：“是隧道建成以前的老地图。我们要从头来了，艾迪，但愿我们能够做到。不，我们不是要去重修隧道，现在根本办不到。但穿过高山的那条旧坡路还在，可以重新利用。只是在上面铺铁轨会很困难，也很难找到人。特别是人这一条。” 他早就知道她看见了他的眼泪，尽管她清晰而单调的声音和毫无变化的面孔让他感觉不出什么，但她并不是对此无动于衷。她的举止里有某种他说不出的东西，但如果把他的感觉表达出来的话，就好像是她在对他说：我知道，我明白，如果我们能生动自由地去感受的话，我会感觉到真心的同情和感激，但我们不能，对不对，艾迪？我们是在像月亮一样死气沉沉的星球上，必须要动着，根本不敢停下来去呼吸一下我们的感受，因为我们会发现没有空气可以让人呼吸。 “我们有今天和明天的时间可以把事情干起来，”她说，“我明天晚上去科罗拉多。” “如果你要飞过去的话，我得给你租一架飞机，你的飞机还在修理厂里面，他们弄不到替换的部件。” “不，我坐火车，我必须要亲自看看这条铁路线，我坐明天的彗星特快去。” 两个小时后，在连续讲着长途电话的间隙，她忽然问了他头一个与铁路无关的问题，“他们把汉克·里尔登怎么样了？” 艾迪发现自己稍稍将视线移开了，他强迫自己重新看着她的眼睛，回答说，“他让步了，在最后关头，他在礼券上签了字。” “噢，”这声音里既没有震惊，也没有责难，只是如同一个声音的标点那样，表示接受了一个事实。“有没有昆廷？丹尼尔斯的消息？” "No." “他没给我写信或者带口信？” "No." 他猜出了她的担心，同时想起了一件事情还没有说，“达格妮，自从你五月一日离开之后，全系统上下出现了另外一个问题，就是冻结的列车。” "what?" “我们发现一些列车被遗弃在了荒无人烟的地方，就那么停在铁道上，通常是在夜间——车组人员都走得精光。他们就这样把火车扔下，然后便消失了。事先从来没有任何警告，也不是因为什么特别的原因，就像传染病一样，突然传到谁，他就走了。其他铁路公司也有同样的现象。谁都解释不清楚。但我想大家心里都明白，这是那个法令干的好事，我们的人就是用这样的方式来表示抗议。他们在尽量坚持，然后突然就再也撑不下去了。对此我们又能怎么样呢？”他耸耸肩，“唉，谁是约翰·高尔特？” 她若有所思地点点头；看上去她并不吃惊。 电话响了起来，里面传来她的秘书的声音，“是华盛顿的韦斯利·莫奇先生，塔格特小姐。” 她像是冷不丁碰到虫子一样绷紧了嘴唇，“肯定是找我哥的。”她说。 “不，塔格特小姐，是找你。” “好吧，接过来。” “塔格特小姐，”韦斯利·莫奇说话的声音带着主持鸡尾酒会的主人那样的腔调，“听说你的身体康复，我简直太高兴了，想亲自对你的回来表示欢迎。我知道你的身体状况需要长期的休息，我很欣赏你如此爱国，在这样紧急的情况下缩短了你的假期。我想向你保证，无论你现在想采取什么样的措施，我们都会配合。我们会提供全力的配合、协助和支持。假