Атлант расправил плечи

           Look—"Hepointedataplantfightingupwardfromundertheweightofarock—along,gnarledstem,contortedbyanunnaturalstruggle,withdrooping,yellowremnantsofunformedleavesandasinglegreenshootthrustupwardtothesunwiththedesperationofalast,spent,inadequateeffort."That’swhatthey’redoingtousbackthereinhell.

           Doyouseemesubmittingtoit?"

           "No,"shewhispered.

           "Doyouseehimsubmitting?"HepointedatGalt.

           "God,no!"

           "Thendon’tbeastonishedbyanythingyouseeinthisvalley."

           Sheremainedsilentwhentheydroveon.Galtsaidnothing.

           Onadistantmountainside,inthedensegreenofaforest,shesawapinetreeslantingdownsuddenly,tracingacurve,likethehandofaclock,thencrashingabruptlyoutofsight.Sheknewthatitwasamanmademotion.

           "Who’sthelumberjackaroundhere?"sheasked.

           "TedNielsen."

           Theroadwasrelaxingintowidercurvesandgentlergrades,amongthesoftershapesofhillsides.Shesawarust-brownslopepatchedbytwosquaresofunmatchinggreen:thedark,dustygreenofpotatoplants,andthepale,greenish-silverofcabbages.Amaninaredshirtwasridingasmalltractor,cuttingweeds,"Who’sthecabbagetycoon?"sheasked.

           "RogerMarsh."

           Sheclosedhereyes.