Атлант расправил плечи
By our love
Shewouldsitatthedoorofthecabinatsunsetandwatchthemotionoftheleavesgrowingstillinthetwilight—thenshewouldseethesparksofthefirefliesrisingfromthegrass,flashingonandoffineverydarkeningcorner,flashingslowly,asifholdingonemoment’swarning—theywerelikethelightsofsignalswinkingatnightoverthetrackofa—Stopit!
Itwasthetimeswhenshecouldnotstopitthatshedreaded,thetimeswhen,unabletostandup—asinphysicalpain,withnolimittodivideitfromthepainofhermind—shewouldfalldownonthefloorofthecabinorontheearthofthewoodsandsitstill,withherfacepressedtoachairorarock,andfightnottoletherselfscreamaloud,whiletheyweresuddenlyasclosetoherandasrealasthebodyofalover:thetwolinesofrailgoingofftoasinglepointinthedistance—thefrontofanenginecuttingspaceapartbymeansofthelettersTT—thesoundofthewheelsclickinginaccentedrhythmunderthefloorofhercar—thestatueofNatTaggartintheconcourseoftheTerminal.Fightingnottoknowthem,nottofeelthem,herbodyrigidbutforthegrindingmotionofherfaceagainstherarm,shewoulddrawwhateverpoweroverherconsciousnessstillremainedtoherintothesoundless,tonelessrepetitionofthewords:Getitoverwith.Therewerelongstretchesofcalm,whenshewasabletofaceherproblemwiththedispassionateclarityofweighingaprobleminengineering.Butshecouldfindnoanswer.
