Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
AndthenIreturnthegoldtothosefromwhomthegoodswerestolen—toyou,Mr.Rearden,andtoothermenlikeyou."
Reardengraspedthenatureoftheemotionhehadforgotten.Itwastheemotionhehadfeltwhen,attheageoffourteen,hehadlookedathisfirstpaycheck—when,attheageoftwenty-four,hehadbeenmadesuperintendentoftheoremines—when,astheownerofthemines,hehadplaced,inhisownname,hisfirstorderfornewequipmentfromthebestconcernofthetime,TwentiethCenturyMotors—anemotionofsolemn,joyousexcitement,thesenseofwinninghisplaceinaworldherespectedandearningtherecognitionofmenheadmired.Foralmosttwodecades,thatemotionhadbeenburiedunderamountofwreckage,astheyearshadaddedlayerupongraylayerofcontempt,ofindignation,ofhisstrugglenottolookaroundhim,nottoseethosehedealtwith,nottoexpectanythingfrommenandtokeep,asaprivatevisionwithinthefourwallsofhisoffice,thesenseofthatworldintowhichhehadhopedtorise.Yetthereitwasagain,breakingthroughfromunderthewreckage,thatfeelingofquickenedinterest,oflisteningtotheluminousvoiceofreason,withwhichonecouldcommunicateanddealandlive.Butitwasthevoiceofapiratespeakingaboutactsofviolence,offeringhimthissubstituteforhisworldofreasonandjustice.Hecouldnotacceptit;hecouldnotlosewhateverremnantofhisvisionhestillretained.Helistened,wishinghecouldescape,yetknowingthathewouldnotmissawordofit.
