Атлант расправил плечи
The Utopia of Greed
Shestoppedhim.Itwashervoice,morethanherwords,thatmadehimstop:hervoicewaslow,ithadnoqualityofemotion,onlyofasinkingweight,anditssolecolorwassomedraggingundertone,likeaninnerecho,resemblingathreat;itwasthevoiceofthepleaofapersonwhostillretainsaconceptofhonor,butislongpastcaringforit:"Youwanttoholdmehere,don’tyou?"
"Morethananythingelseintheworld."
"Youcouldholdme."
"Iknowit."
Hisvoicehadsaiditwiththesamesoundashers.Hewaited,toregainhisbreath.Whenhespoke,hisvoicewaslowandclear,withsomestressedqualityofawareness,whichwasalmostthequalityofasmileofunderstanding:"It’syouracceptanceofthisplacethatIwant.Whatgoodwoulditdome,tohaveyourphysicalpresencewithoutanymeaning?That’sthekindoffakedrealitybywhichmostpeoplecheatthemselvesoftheirlives.I’mnotcapableofit."Heturnedtogo."Andneitherareyou.Goodnight,MissTaggart."
Hewalkedout,intohisbedroom,closingthedoor.
