Атлант расправил плечи
The Immovable Movers
Itslightswipedouthalfablock,leavingonlyahugephotographandsomeletterssuspendedinblazingmid-air.Thephotographwasofasmilingyoungwoman;lookingatherface,onefeltthewearinessofhavingseenitforyears,evenwhileseeingitforthefirsttime.Theletterssaid:"...inamomentousdramagivingtheanswertothegreatproblem:Shouldawomantell?"
Shewalkedpastthedoorofanightclub.Acouplecamestaggeringouttoataxicab.Thegirlhadblurredeyes,aperspiringface,anerminecapeandabeautifuleveninggownthathadslippedoffoneshoulderlikeaslovenlyhousewife’sbathrobe,revealingtoomuchofherbreast,notinamannerofdaring,butinthemannerofadrudge’sindifference.Herescortsteeredher,grippinghernakedarm;hisfacedidnothavetheexpressionofamananticipatingaromanticadventure,buttheslylookofaboyouttowriteobscenitiesonfences.
Whathadshehopedtofind?—shethought,walkingon.Thesewerethethingsmenlivedby,theformsoftheirspirit,oftheirculture,oftheirenjoyment.Shehadseennothingelseanywhere,notformanyyears.
Atthecornerofthestreetwhereshelived,sheboughtanewspaperandwenthome.
Herapartmentwastworoomsonthetopfloorofaskyscraper.Thesheetsofglassinthecornerwindowofherlivingroommadeitlookliketheprowofashipinmotion,andthelightsofthecitywerelikephosphorescentsparksontheblackwavesofsteelandstone.
