Атлант расправил плечи
Their Brothers’ Keepers
Shesawtheglareoftheexplosionineveryfaceshemetthroughtherestoftheday—andineveryfaceshepassedinthedarknessofthestreets,thatevening.IfFranciscohadwantedaworthyfuneralpyreford’AnconiaCopper,shethought,hehadsucceeded.Thereitwas,inthestreetsofNewYorkCity,theonlycityonearthstillabletounderstandit—inthefacesofpeople,intheirwhispers,thewhisperscracklingtenselylikesmalltonguesoffire,thefaceslightedbyalookthatwasbothsolemnandfrantic,theshadingsofexpressionsappearingtoswayandweave,asifcastbyadistantflame,somefrightened,someangry,mostofthemuneasy,uncertain,expectant,butallofthemacknowledgingafactmuchbeyondanindustrialcatastrophe,allofthemknowingwhatitmeant,thoughnonewouldnameitsmeaning,allofthemcarryingatouchoflaughter,alaughterofamusementanddefiance,thebitterlaughterofperishingvictimswhofeelthattheyareavenged.
ShesawitinthefaceofHankRearden,whenshemethimfordinnerthatevening.Ashistall,confidentfigurewalkedtowardher—theonlyfigurethatseemedathomeinthecostlysettingofadistinguishedrestaurant—shesawthelookofeagernessfightingthesternnessofhisfeatures,thelookofayoungboystillopentotheenchantmentoftheunexpected.Hedidnotspeakofthisday’sevent,butsheknewthatitwastheonlyimageinhismind.
