Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
Hismothergaveasmallsighofuneasyreliefanddroppedhastilyintothenearestchair,watchinghim,nervouslyuncertainofwhetherhewouldfollowherexample.
"Whatwasityouwanted?"heasked,sittingdown.
Hismothersaterectandoddlyhunched,hershouldersraised,herheadhalf-lowered."Mercy,Henry,"shewhispered.
"Whatdoyoumean?"
"Don’tyouunderstandme?"
"No."
"Well"—shespreadherhandsinanuntidilyflutteringgestureofhelplessness—"well..."Hereyesdartedabout,strugglingtoescapehisattentiveglance."Well,therearesomanythingstosayand...andIdon’tknowhowtosaythem,but...well,there’sonepracticalmatter,butit’snotimportantbyitself...it’snotwhyIcalledyouhere..."
"Whatisit?"
"Thepracticalmatter?Ourallowancechecks—Philip’sandmine.It’sthefirstofthemonth,butonaccountofthatattachmentorder,thecheckscouldn’tcomethrough.Youknowthat,don’tyou?"
"Iknowit."
"Well,whatarewegoingtodo?"
"Idon’tknow."
"Imean,whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?"
"Nothing."
Hismothersatstaringathim,asifcountingthesecondsofsilence.
"Nothing,Henry?"
"Ihavenopowertodoanything.
