Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
"Goahead,"saidRearden,"providedyoudon’tintendtoaskmeforhelpormoney."
Theman’sgarmentswererough,butefficientlytrim.Heworedarktrousersandadarkbluewindbreakerclosedtightathisthroat,prolongingthelinesofhislong,slenderfigure.Heworeadarkbluecap,andallthatcouldbeseenofhiminthenightwerehishands,hisfaceandapatchofgold-blondhaironhistemple.Thehandsheldnoweapon,onlyapackagewrappedinburlap,thesizeofacartonofcigarettes.
"No,Mr.Rearden,"hesaid,"Idon’tintendtoaskyouformoney,buttoreturnittoyou."
"Toreturnmoney?"
"Yes."
"Whatmoney?"
"Asmallrefundonaverylargedebt."
"Owedbyyou?"
"No,notbyme.Itisonlyatokenpayment,butIwantyoutoacceptitasproofthatifwelivelongenough,youandI,everydollarofthatdebtwillbereturnedtoyou."
"Whatdebt?"
"Themoneythatwastakenfromyoubyforce."
HeextendedthepackagetoRearden,flippingtheburlapopen.
Reardensawthestarlightrunlikefirealongamirror-smoothsurface.
Heknew,byitsweightandtexture,thatwhatheheldwasabarofsolidgold.
Helookedfromthebartotheman’sface,butthefaceseemedharderandlessrevealingthanthesurfaceofthemetal.
