Атлант расправил плечи

           Circlingintheouterdarknessabovethefield,shesawthesilverbodyofaplanerisinglikeaphoenixoutofthewhitefireand—inastraightline,almostleavinganinstant’strailoflighttohanginspacebehindit—goingofftowardtheeast.

           Thenshesweptdowninitsstead,todiveintotheluminousfunnelofbeams—shesawastripofcementflyingatherface,shefeltthejoltofthewheelsstoppingitintime,thenthestreakofhermotionebbingoutandtheplanebeingtamedtothesafetyofacar,asittaxiedsmoothlyofftherunway.

           Itwasasmallprivateairfield,servingthemeagertrafficofafewindustrialconcernsstillremaininginAfton.Shesawaloneattendanthurryingtomeether.Sheleapeddowntothegroundthemomenttheplanestoodstill,thehoursoftheflightsweptfromhermindbytheimpatienceoverthestretchofafewmoreminutes.

           "CanIgetacarsomewheretodrivemetotheInstituteofTechnologyatonce?"sheasked.

           Theattendantlookedather,puzzled."Why,yes,Iguessso,ma’am.

           But...butwhatfor?There’snobodythere."

           "Mr.QuentinDanielsisthere."

           Theattendantshookhisheadslowly—thenjerkedhisthumb,pointingeasttotheshrinkingtaillightsoftheplane."There’sMr.Danielsgoingnow."

           "What?"

           "Hejustleft.