Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
NobodysawDanneskjold’sship...That’swhatpeoplearewhispering.Thenewspapershaven’tprintedawordaboutit.TheboysinWashingtonsaythatit’sonlyarumorspreadbypanic-mongers...Idon’tknowwhetherthestoryistrue.Ithinkitis.Ihopeitis...Youknow,whenIwasfifteenyearsold,Iusedtowonderhowanymancouldbecomeacriminal,Icouldn’tunderstandwhatwouldmakeitpossible.
Now—nowI’mgladthatRagnarDanneskjoldhasblownupthosemills.MayGodblesshimandneverletthemfindhim,whateverandwhereverheis!...Yes,that’swhatI’vecometofeel.Well,howmuchdotheythinkpeoplecantake?...It’snotsobadformeinthedaytime,becauseIcankeepbusyandnotthink,butitgetsmeatnight.Ican’tsleepanymore,Ilieawakeforhours...Yes!—ifyouwanttoknowit—yes,it’sbecauseI’mworriedabouther!I’mscaredtodeathforher.Woodstockisjustamiserablelittleholeofaplace,milesawayfromeverything,andtheTaggartlodgeistwentymilesfarther,twentymilesofatwistingtrailinagodforsakenforest.HowdoIknowwhatmighthappentoherthere,alone,andwiththekindofgangsthatarerovingallthroughthecountrythesenights—justthroughsuchdesolatepartsofthecountryastheBerkshires?...IknowIshouldn’tthinkaboutit.Iknowthatshecantakecareofherself.OnlyIwishshe’ddropmealine.IwishIcouldgothere.Butshetoldmenotto.
ItoldherI’dwait...Youknow,I’mgladyou’reheretonight.
