A few commissions still dribbled out occasionally, and a group of architectshovered about them with the dignity of a bread line. There were men like RalstonHolcombe among them, men who had never begged, but had demanded referencesbefore they accepted a client. When Roark tried to get a commission, he wasrejected in a manner implying that if he had no more sense than that, politenesswould be a wasted effort. "Roark?" cautious businessmen said. "The tabloid hero?Money’s too scarce nowadays to waste it on lawsuits afterwards."Then he lay without moving, straight and limp, like a man long past the stage ofsuffering. Roark stood at the window, looking at the wrenched room and at theboy on the bed. He wondered why he felt as if he were waiting.
