Атлант расправил плечи
“This is John Galt speaking”
Inthesilenceofsleeplessnights,shethoughtthatHankReardenandshehadnowchangedplaces:hewasinAtlantisandshewaslockedoutbyascreenoflight—hewas,perhaps,callingtoherasshehadcalledtohisstrugglingairplane,butnosignalcouldreachherthroughthatscreen.
Yetthescreensplitopenforonebriefbreak—forthelengthofalettershereceivedaweekafterhevanished.Theenvelopeborenoreturnaddress,onlythepostmarkofsomehamletinColorado.Thelettercontainedtwosentences:
Ihavemethim.Idon’tblameyou.
H.R.
Shesatstillforalongtime,lookingattheletter,asifunabletomoveortofeel.Shefeltnothing,shethought,thennoticedthathershouldersweretremblinginafaint,continuousshudder,thengraspedthatthetearingviolencewithinherwasmadeofanexultanttribute,ofgratitudeandofdespair—hertributetothevictorythatthemeetingofthesetwomenimplied,thefinalvictoryofboth—hergratitudethatthoseinAtlantisstillregardedherasoneofthemandhadgrantedhertheexceptionofreceivingamessage—thedespairoftheknowledgethatherblanknesswasastrugglenottohearthequestionsshewasnowhearing.
