Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
Theboynodded,pointingvaguelydownintothedarkness."Yeah...downthere...AndthenI...Istartedcrawling...crawlingup...Iwanted...IwantedtolasttillItoldsomebodywho’dtellyou."Thepain-twistedlinesofhisfacesmoothedsuddenlyintoasmile;hisvoicehadthesoundofalifetime’striumphasheadded,"Ihave."Thenhejerkedhisheadupandasked,inthetoneofachild’sastonishmentatasuddendiscovery,"Mr.Rearden,isthishowitfeelsto...towantsomethingverymuch...verydesperatelymuch...andtomakeit?"
"Yes,kid,that’showitfeels."Theboy’sheaddroppedbackagainstRearden’sarm,theeyesclosing,themouthrelaxing,asiftoholdamoment’sprofoundcontentment."Butyoucan’tstopthere.You’renotthrough.You’vegottohangontillIgetyoutoadoctorand—"Hewasliftingtheboycautiously,butaconvulsionofpainranthroughtheboy’sface,hismouthtwistingtostopacry—andReardenhadtolowerhimgentlybacktotheground.
Theboyshookhisheadwithaglancethatwasalmostapology."Iwon’tmakeit,Mr.Rearden...Nousefoolingmyself...IknowI’mthrough."
Then,asifbysomedimrecoilagainstself-pity,headded,recitingamemorizedlesson,hisvoiceadesperateattemptathisold,cynical,intellectualtone,"Whatdoesitmatter,Mr.Rearden?...Manisonlyacollectionof...conditionedchemicals...andaman’sdyingdoesn’tmake...
