Атлант расправил плечи
The Concerto of Deliverance
"
Hesawasuddenflickerintheboy’sface,anattemptathisold,bright,impudentgrin."Not‘Non-Absolute’anymore?"
"No,notanymore.You’reafullabsolutenow,andyouknowit."
"Yes.Iknowseveralofthem,now.There’sone"—hepointedatthewoundinhischest—"that’sanabsolute,isn’tit?And"—hewentonspeakingwhileReardenwasliftinghimfromthegroundbyimperceptiblesecondsandinches,speakingasifthetremblingintensityofhiswordswereservingasananestheticagainstthepain—"andmencan’tlive...ifrottenbastards...liketheonesinWashington...getawaywiththingslike...liketheonethey’redoingtonight...ifeverythingbecomesastinkingfake...andnothingisreal...andnobodyisanybody...mencan’tlivethatway...that’sanabsolute,isn’tit?"
"Yes,Tony,that’sanabsolute."
Reardenrosetohisfeetbyalong,cautiouseffort;hesawthetorturedspasmoftheboy’sfeatures,ashesettledhimslowlyagainsthischest,likeababyheldtightinhisarms—butthespasmtwistedintoanotherechooftheimpudentgrin,andtheboyasked,"Who’stheWetNursenow?"
"IguessIam."
Hetookthefirststepsuptheslantofcrumblingsoil,hisbodytensedtothetaskofshockabsorberforhisfragileburden,tothetaskofmaintainingasteadyprogressionwheretherewasnofootholdtofind.
