Атлант расправил плечи
Anti-Life
Hehadwalkedoutintothesummertwilightofthestreets,feelingasifhewerebothpursuingandpursued:pursuingapleasurewhichnothingcouldgivehim,incelebrationofafeelingwhichhedarednotname—pursuedbythedreadofdiscoveringwhatmotivehadmovedhimthroughtheplanningoftonight’sachievementandwhataspectofitnowgavehimthisfeverishsenseofgratification.
Heremindedhimselfthathewouldsellhisd’AnconiaCopperstock,whichhadneverralliedfullyafteritscrashoflastyear,andhewouldpurchasesharesoftheInter-neighborlyAmityandDevelopmentCorporation,asagreedwithhisfriends,whichwouldbringhimafortune.Butthethoughtbroughthimnothingbutboredom;thiswasnotthethinghewantedtocelebrate.
Hetriedtoforcehimselftoenjoyit:money,hethought,hadbeenhismotive,money,nothingworse.Wasn’tthatanormalmotive?Avalidone?Wasn’tthatwhattheyallwereafter,theWyatts,theReardens,thed’Anconias?...Hejerkedhisheadtostopit:hefeltasifhisthoughtswereslippingdownadangerousblindalley,theendofwhichhemustneverpermithimselftosee.
No—hethoughtbleakly,inreluctantadmission—moneymeantnothingtohimanylonger.
