Атлант расправил плечи

           Sheglancedathisclothes:thegrayslacksandwhiteshirtseemedofaqualityintendedforlongwear;theleatherofthenarrowbeltabouthiswaistlinewascracked;thewatchonhiswristwasaprecisioninstrument,butmadeofplainstainlesssteel.Thesolesuggestionofluxurywasthecolorofhishair—thestrandsstirringinthewindlikeliquidgoldandcopper.

           Abruptly,behindaturnoftheroad,shesawthegreenacresofpasturesstretchingtoadistantfarmhouse.Therewereherdsofsheep,somehorses,thefencedsquaresofpigpensunderthesprawlingshapesofwoodenbarnsand,fartheraway,ametalhangarofatypethatdidnotbelongonafarm.Amaninabrightcowboyshirtwashurryingtowardthem.Galtstoppedthecarandwavedtohim,butsaidnothinginanswertoherquestioningglance.Heletherdiscoverforherself,whenthemancamecloser,thatitwasDwightSanders,"Hello,MissTaggart,"hesaid,smiling.

           Shelookedsilentlyathisrolledshirtsleeves,athisheavyboots,attheherdsofcattle."Sothat’sallthat’sleftofSandersAircraft,"shesaid.

           "Why,no.There’sthatexcellentmonoplane,mybestmodel,whichyouflattenedupinthefoothills."

           "Oh,youknowaboutthat?Yes,itwasoneofyours.Itwasawonderfulship.ButI’mafraidI’vedamageditprettybadly."

           "Yououghttohaveitfixed."

           "IthinkI’verippedthebottom.Nobodycanfixit."

           "Ican.