Атлант расправил плечи
The Sign of the Dollar
Thetrainwasslowingdownforabadstretchoftrack,theconductorhadopenedthedoortoacoldgustofwind,andwaswavingatthespeedingblackvoid,ordering,"Getgoing!GetoffasyougotonorI’llkickyouoffheadfirst!"
Therewasnoastonishmentinthetramp’sface,noprotest,noanger,nohope;helookedasifhehadlongsinceabandonedanyjudgmentofanyhumanaction.Hemovedobedientlytorise,hishandgropingupwardalongtherivetsofthecar’swall.Shesawhimglanceatherandglanceaway,asifsheweremerelyanotherinanimatefixtureofthetrain.Hedidnotseemtobeawareofherperson,anymorethanofhisown,hewasindifferentlyreadytocomplywithanorderwhich,inhiscondition,meantcertaindeath.
Sheglancedattheconductor.Shesawnothinginhisfaceexcepttheblindmalevolenceofpain,ofsomelong-repressedangerthatbrokeoutuponthefirstobjectavailable,almostwithoutconsciousnessoftheobject’sidentity.Thetwomenwerenothumanbeingstoeachotheranylonger.
Thetramp’ssuitwasamassofcarefulpatchesonaclothsostiffandshinywithwearthatoneexpectedittocracklikeglassifbent;butshenoticedthecollarofhisshirt:itwasbone-whitefromrepeatedlaunderinganditstillpreservedasemblanceofshape.
