Атлант расправил плечи
Anti-Life
Thiswasthewayhehadlivedallhislife—keepinghiseyesstubbornly,safelyontheimmediatepavementbeforehim,craftilyavoidingthesightofhisroad,ofcorners,ofdistances,ofpinnacles.Hehadneverintendedgoinganywhere,hehadwantedtobefreeofprogression,freeoftheyokeofastraightline,hehadneverwantedhisyearstoadduptoanysum—whathadsummedthemup?—whyhadhereachedsomeunchosendestinationwhereonecouldnolongerstandstillorretreat?"Lookwhereyou’regoing,brother!"snarledsomevoice,whileanelbowpushedhimback—andherealizedthathehadcollidedwithsomelarge,ill-smellingfigureandthathehadbeenrunning.
Heslowedhisstepsandadmittedintohismindarecognitionofthestreetshehadchoseninhisrandomescape.Hehadnotwantedtoknowthathewasgoinghometohiswife.That,too,wasafogboundalley,buttherewasnootherlefttohim.
Heknew—themomenthesawCherryl’ssilent,poisedfigureassheroseathisentranceintoherroom—thatthiswasmoredangerousthanhehadallowedhimselftoknowandthathewouldnotfindwhathewanted.Butdanger,tohim,wasasignaltoshutoffhissight,suspendhisjudgmentandpursueanunalteredcourse,ontheunstatedpremisethatthedangerwouldremainunrealbythesovereignpowerofhiswishnottoseeit—likeafoghornwithinhim,blowing,nottosoundawarning,buttosummonthefog.
