Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
Henoticedsmallclustersofthenewworkers,justthreeorfourofthemhuddlingtogetherinconversation—onceortwicetoooften.Henoticedtheirmanner,amannersuggestingapoolroomcorner,notafactory.Henoticedafewglancesthrownathimashewentby,glancesashadetoopointedandlingering.Hedismissedit;itwasnotquiteenoughtowonderabout—andhehadnotimetowonder.
Whenhedroveuptohisformerhome,thatafternoon,hestoppedhiscarabruptlyatthefootofthehill.HehadnotseenthehousesincethatMay15,sixmonthsago,whenhehadwalkedoutofit—andthesightbroughtbacktohimthesumofallhehadfeltintenyearsofdailyhome-coming:thestrain,thebewilderment,thegrayweightofunconfessedunhappiness,thesternendurancethatforbadehimtoconfessit,thedesperateinnocenceoftheefforttounderstandhisfamily...theefforttobejust.
Hewalkedslowlyupthepathtowardthedoor.Hefeltnoemotion,onlythesenseofagreat,solemnclarity.Heknewthatthishousewasamonumentofguilt—ofhisguilttowardhimself.
HehadexpectedtoseehismotherandPhilip;hehadnotexpectedthethirdpersonwhorose,astheydid,athisentranceintothelivingroom:itwasLillian.
Hestoppedonthethreshold.Theystoodlookingathisfaceandattheopendoorbehindhim.
