Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
anymoredifferencethanananimal’s."
"Youknowbetterthanthat."
"Yes,"hewhispered."Yes,IguessIdo."
Hiseyeswanderedoverthevastdarkness,thenrosetoRearden’sface;theeyeswerehelpless,longing,childishlybewildered."Iknow...it’scrap,allthosethingstheytaughtus...allofit,everythingtheysaid...aboutlivingor...ordying...Dying...itwouldn’tmakeanydifferencetochemicals,but—"hestopped,andallofhisdesperateprotestwasonlyintheintensityofhisvoicedroppinglowertosay,"—butitdoes,tome...And...and,Iguess,itmakesadifferencetoananimal,too...Buttheysaidtherearenovalues...onlysocialcustoms...Novalues!"Hishandclutchedblindlyattheholeinhischest,asiftryingtoholdthatwhichhewaslosing."No...values..."
Thenhiseyesopenedwider,withthesuddencalmoffullfrankness.
"I’dliketolive,Mr.Rearden.God,howI’dliketo!"Hisvoicewaspassionatelyquiet."NotbecauseI’mdying...butbecauseI’vejustdiscoveredittonight,whatitmeans,reallytobealive...And...it’sfunny...doyouknowwhenIdiscoveredit?...Intheoffice...whenIstuckmyneckout...whenItoldthebastardstogotohell...There’s...there’ssomanythingsIwishI’dknownsooner...But...well,it’snousecryingoverspilledmilk."HesawRearden’sinvoluntaryglanceattheflattenedtrailbelowandadded,"Overspilledanything,Mr.
