Атлант расправил плечи

           Theroadwentpastitandclimbedonintothecoilsofanascendinggrade.Thepavementshranktoanarrowpathbetweentwowallsofancientpines,theirtall,straighttrunkspressingagainstitlikeagrimcolonnade,theirbranchesmeetingabove,swallowingthepathintosuddensilenceandtwilight.Therewerenomarksofwheelsonthethinstripofearth,itlookedunusedandforgotten,afewminutesandafewturnsseemedtotakethecarmilesawayfromhumanhabitation—andthentherewasnothingtobreakthepressureofthestillnessbutararewedgeofsunlightcuttingacrossthetrunksinthedepthoftheforestonceinawhile.

           Thesuddensightofahouseontheedgeofthepathstruckherliketheshockofanunexpectedsound:builtinloneliness,cutofffromalltiestohumanexistence,itlookedlikethesecretretreatofsomegreatdefianceorsorrow.Itwasthehumblesthomeofthevalley,alogcabinbeatenindarkstreaksbythetearsofmanyrains,onlyitsgreatwindowswithstandingthestormswiththesmooth,shining,untouchedserenityofglass.

           "Whosehouseis...Oh!"—shecaughtherbreathandjerkedherheadaway.Abovethedoor,hitbyarayofsun,itsdesignblurredandworn,batteredsmoothbythewindsofcenturies,hungthesilvercoat-of-armsofSebastiand’Anconia.

           Asifindeliberateanswertoherinvoluntarymovementofescape,Galtstoppedthecarinfrontofthehouse.