Атлант расправил плечи
By our love
Tokillitseemedlikeanact,notofmurder,butofsuicide:herordertostopitwouldbehersignatureunderthecertaintythattherewasnoterminalforhertoseekahead.
Butitisnottrue—shethought,asshestoodatthedoorofhercabin,onthismorningofMay28—itisnottruethatthereisnoplaceinthefutureforasuperlativeachievementofman’smind;itcanneverbetrue.Nomatterwhatherproblem,thiswouldalwaysremaintoher—thisimmovableconvictionthatevilwasunnaturalandtemporary.Shefeltitmoreclearlythaneverthismorning:thecertaintythattheuglinessofthemeninthecityandtheuglinessofhersufferingweretransientaccidents—whilethesmilingsenseofhopewithinheratthesightofasun-floodedforest,thesenseofanunlimitedpromise,wasthepermanentandthereal.
Shestoodatthedoor,smokingacigarette.Intheroombehindher,thesoundsofasymphonyofhergrandfather’stimewerecomingfromtheradio.Shebarelylistened,shewasconsciousonlyoftheflowofchordsthatseemedtoplayanunderscoringharmonyfortheflowofthesmokecurvingslowlyfromhercigarette,forthecurvingmotionofherarmmovingthecigarettetoherlipsonceinawhile.Sheclosedhereyesandstoodstill,feelingtheraysofthesunonherbody.Thiswastheachievement,shethought—toenjoythismoment,toletnomemoryofpainblunthercapacitytofeelasshefeltrightnow;solongasshecouldpreservethisfeeling,shewouldhavethefueltogoon.
