Атлант расправил плечи
The Sign of the Dollar
Therewasnoporterinthecubbyholeofthenextcar,noporterinthecarbeyond.Shehurrieddownthenarrowpassageways,meetingnoone.Butafewcompartmentdoorswereopen.Thepassengerssatinside,dressedorhalf-dressed,silently,asifwaiting.Theywatchedherrushbywithoddlyfurtiveglances,asiftheyknewwhatshewasafter,asiftheyhadexpectedsomeonetocomeandtofacewhattheyhadnotfaced.Shewenton,runningdownthespinalcordofadeadtrain,notingthepeculiarcombinationoflightedcompartments,opendoorsandemptypassages:noonehadventuredtostepout.Noonehadwantedtoaskthefirstquestion.
Sheranthroughthetrain’sonlycoach,wheresomepassengerssleptincontortedposesofexhaustion,whileothers,awakeandstill,sathunched,likeanimalswaitingforablow,makingnomovetoavertit.Inthevestibuleofthecoach,shestopped.Shesawaman,whohadunlockedthedoorandwasleaningout,lookinginquiringlyaheadthroughthedarkness,readytostepoff.Heturnedatthesoundofherapproach.Sherecognizedhisface:itwasOwenKellogg,themanwhohadrejectedthefutureshehadonceofferedhim.
"Kellogg!"shegasped,thesoundoflaughterinhervoicelikeacryofreliefatthesuddensightofamaninadesert.
"Hello,MissTaggart,"heanswered,withanastonishedsmilethatheldatouchofincredulouspleasure—andofwistfulness."Ididn’tknowyouwereaboard.
