Атлант расправил плечи
The Sign of the Dollar
Itlookedlikeaphosphorescentveinshowingthroughtheskinoftheearth,adelicateveinwithoutblood.
Whenshesawthelightsofatown,likeahandfulofgoldcoinsflungupontheprairie,thebrightlyviolentlightsfedbyanelectriccurrent,theyseemedasdistantasthestarsandnowasunattainable.Theenergythathadlightedthemwasgone,thepowerthatcreatedpowerstationsinemptyprairieshadvanished,andsheknewofnojourneytorecaptureit.Yetthesehadbeenherstars—shethought,lookingdown—thesehadbeenhergoal,herbeacon,theaspirationdrawingheruponherupwardcourse.Thatwhichothersclaimedtofeelatthesightofthestars—starssafelydistantbymillionsofyearsandthusimposingnoobligationtoact,butservingasthetinseloffutility—shehadfeltatthesightofelectricbulbslightingthestreetsofatown.Itwasthisearthbelowthathadbeentheheightshehadwantedtoreach,andshewonderedhowshehadcometoloseit,whohadmadeofitaconvict’sballtodragthroughmuck,whohadturneditspromiseofgreatnessintoavisionnevertobereached.Butthetownwaspast,andshehadtolookahead,tothemountainsofColoradorisinginherway.
Thesmallglassdialonherpanelshowedthatshewasnowclimbing.
Thesoundoftheengine,beatingthroughthemetalshellaroundher,tremblinginthewheelagainstherpalms,likethepoundingofaheartstrainedtoasolemneffort,toldherofthepowercarryingherabovethepeaks.
