Francon.

"Roark, I can accept anything, except what seems to be the easiest for most people: the halfway, the almost, the just about, the in-between. They may have their justifications. I don't know. I don't care to inquire. I know that it is the one thing not given to me to understand. When I think of what you are, I can't accept any reality except a world of your kind. Or atleast a world in which you have a fighting chance and a fight on your own terms. That does not exist. And I can't live a life torn between that which exists-and you. It would mean to struggle against things and men who don't deserve to be your opponents. Your fight, using your methods-and its too horrible a desecration. It would mean doing for you what I did for Peter Keating: lie, flatter, evade, compromise, pander to every ineptitude-in order to beg of them to let you live, to let you function, to beg them, Roark, not to laugh at them, but to tremble because they hold the power to hurt you. Am I too weak because I can't do this? I don't know which is greater strength. To accept all this for you-or to love you so much that the rest is beyond acceptance. I don't know. I love you too much."