Атлант расправил плечи
Their Brothers’ Keepers
"What’sthematter,MissTaggart?"
Itwasthesoftvoiceofthetowerdirector,whostoodbyherside,withsomesortofpaperinhishand—andshethoughtitwasstrangetoemergefromaspanofunconsciousnesswhichhadbeenthespanofthesharpestawarenessshehadeverexperienced,onlyshedidnotknowhowlongithadlastedorwhereshewasorwhy.ShehadbeenawareofGalt’sface,shehadbeenseeing,intheshapeofhismouth,intheplanesofhischeeks,thecrackupofthatimplacableserenitywhichhadalwaysbeenhis,buthestillretaineditinhislookofacknowledgingthebreach,ofadmittingthatthismomentwastoomuchevenforhim.
Sheknewthatshewentonspeaking,becausethosearoundherlookedasiftheywerelistening,thoughshecouldnothearasound,shewentonspeakingasifcarryingoutahypnoticordergiventoherselfsomeendlesstimeago,knowingonlythatthecompletionofthatorderwasaformofdefianceagainsthim,neitherknowingnorhearingherownwords.
Shefeltasifshewerestandinginaradiantsilencewheresightwasheronlycapacityandhisfacewasitsonlyobject,andthesightofhisfacewaslikeaspeechintheformofapressureatthebaseofherthroat.Itseemedsonaturalthatheshouldbehere,itseemedsounendurablysimple—shefeltasiftheshockwerenothispresence,butthepresenceofothersonthetracksofherrailroad,wherehebelongedandtheydidnot.
