Атлант расправил плечи

           "Theenginewentoffthetrack."

           "Off...?"

           "Onitsside."

           "Anybody...killed?"

           "No.Theengineer’sallright.Thefiremanishurt."

           "Splitrail?Whatdoyoumean,splitrail?"

           Theconductor’sfacehadanoddlook:itwasgrim,accusingandclosed."Railwearsout,Mr.Chalmers,"heansweredwithastrangekindofemphasis."Particularlyoncurves."

           "Didn’tyouknowthatitwaswornout?"

           "Weknew."

           "Well,whydidn’tyouhaveitreplaced?"

           "Itwasgoingtobereplaced.ButMr.Loceycancelledthat."

           "WhoisMr.Locey?"

           "ThemanwhoisnotourOperatingVice-President."

           Chalmerswonderedwhytheconductorseemedtolookathimasifsomethingaboutthecatastrophewerehisfault."Well...well,aren’tyougoingtoputtheenginebackonthetrack?"

           "Thatengine’snevergoingtobeputbackonanytrack,fromthelooksofit."

           "But...butit’sgottomoveus!"

           "Itcan’t."

           Beyondthefewmovingflaresandthedulledsoundsofscreams,Chalmerssensedsuddenly,notwantingtolookatit,theblackimmensityofthemountains,thesilenceofhundredsofuninhabitedmiles,andtheprecariousstripofaledgehangingbetweenawallofrockandanabyss.