Атлант расправил плечи
By our love
"Whydon’tyoumovethosevegetablesoutofthesun?"Dagnyaskedonce.Thewomanlookedatherblankly,asifunabletounderstandthepossibilityofsuchaquestion."They’vealwaysbeenthere,"sheansweredindifferently.
Drivingbacktothecabin,Dagnylookedupatamountainstreamthatfellwithferociousforcedownasheergranitewall,itssprayhanginglikeamistofrainbowsinthesun.Shethoughtthatonecouldbuildahydroelectricplant,justlargeenoughtosupplythepowerforhercabinandforthetownofWoodstock—Woodstockcouldbemadetobeproductive—thosewildappletreesshesawinsuchunusualnumbersamongthedensegrowthonthehillsides,weretheremnantsoforchards—supposeoneweretoreclaimthem,thenbuildasmallspurtothenearestrailroad—oh,stopit!
"Nokerosenetoday,"thestorekeepertoldheronhernexttriptoWoodstock."ItrainedThursdaynight,andwhenitrains,thetruckscan’tgetthroughFairfieldgorge,theroad’sflooded,andthekerosenetruckwon’tbebackthiswaytillnextmonth.""Ifyouknowthattheroadgetsfloodedeverytimeitrains,whydon’tyoupeoplerepairit?"
Thewomananswered,"Theroad’salwaysbeenthatway."
Drivingback,Dagnystoppedonthecrestofahillandlookeddownatthemilesofcountrysidebelow.ShelookedatFairfieldgorgewherethecountyroad,twistingthroughmarshysoilbelowthelevelofariver,gottrappedinacrackbetweentwohills.
