Атлант расправил плечи
Anti-Life
Theworstofthetorturehadbeenthemomentswhen,walkingdownthestreet,shehadcaughtasuddenglimpseofchestnut-gold,aglowingstreakofhairamongtheheadsofstrangers,andhadfeltasifthecityhadvanished,asifnothingbuttheviolentstillnesswithinherweredelayingthemomentwhenshewouldrushtohimandseizehim;butthatnextmomenthadcomeasthesightofsomemeaninglessface—andshehadstood,notwishingtolivethroughthefollowingstep,notwishingtogeneratetheenergyofliving.Shehadtriedtoavoidsuchmoments;shehadtriedtoforbidherselftolook;shehadwalked,keepinghereyesonthepavements.Shehadfailed:bysomewilloftheirown,hereyeshadkeptleapingtoeverystreakofgold.
Shehadkepttheblindsraisedonthewindowsofheroffice,rememberinghispromise,thinkingonly:Ifyouarewatchingme,whereveryouare...Therewerenobuildingsclosetotheheightofheroffice,butshehadlookedatthedistanttowers,wonderingwhichwindowwashisobservationpost,wonderingwhethersomeinventionofhisown,somedeviceofraysandlenses,permittedhimtoobservehereverymovementfromsomeskyscraperablockoramileaway.Shehadsatatherdesk,atheruncurtainedwindows,thinking:Justtoknowthatyou’reseeingme,evenifI’mnevertoseeyouagain.
Andrememberingit,now,inthedarknessofherroom,sheleapedtoherfeetandsnappedonthelight.
