Атлант расправил плечи
The Moratorium on Brains
Why?"
"Didyouhappentoseeamananywherearoundtheseparts,astrangermovingalonginahurry?"
"Where?"
"He’dbeeitheronfootorinabatteredwreckofacarthat’sgotamillion-dollarmotor."
"Whatman?"
"Atallmanwithblondhair."
"Whoishe?"
"Youwouldn’tbelieveitifItoldyou,Mr.Rearden.Didyouseehim?"
Reardenwasnotawareofhisownquestions,onlyoftheastonishingfactthathewasabletoforcesoundspastsomebeatingbarrierinsidehisthroat.Hewaslookingstraightatthepoliceman,buthefeltasifthefocusofhiseyeshadswitchedtohissidevision,andwhathesawmostclearlywasDanneskjold’sfacewatchinghimwithnoexpression,withnoline’s,nomuscle’sworthoffeeling.HesawDanneskjold’sarmshangingidlybyhissides,thehandsrelaxed,withnosignofintentiontoreachforaweapon,leavingthetall,straightbodydefenselessandopen—openastoafiringsquad.Hesaw,inthelight,thatthefacelookedyoungerthanhehadthoughtandthattheeyesweresky-blue.
HefeltthathisonedangerwouldbetoglancedirectlyatDanneskjold—andhekepthiseyesonthepoliceman,onthebrassbuttonsofablueuniform,buttheobjectfillinghisconsciousness,moreforcefullythanavisualperception,wasDanneskjold’sbody,thenakedbodyundertheclothes,thebodythatwouldbewipedoutofexistence.
