Атлант расправил плечи

           Thesoundofhisownorderandthehiccough-moanofthefigureimmobilizedsomewhereinthedarkness,seemedtohelphimrecaptureafamiliarversionofreality.Hisheademergedaninchhigherfromhisshoulders.

           "Whopermittedittohap—"hebeganinarisingvoice,butstopped;thevibrationshecaughtwerethedangerouspanicofthecornered.

           "Whatdoyoumakeofit?"heasked,instead.Therewasnoanswer.

           "Well?"Hewaited."Well,saysomething,somebody!"

           "Wedon’thavetobelieveit,dowe?"criedJamesTaggart,thrustinghisfacetowardMr.Thompson,inamannerthatwasalmostathreat.

           "Dowe?"Taggart’sfacewasdistorted;hisfeaturesseemedshapeless;amustacheofsmallbeadssparkledbetweenhisnoseandmouth.

           "Pipedown,"saidMr.Thompsonuncertainly,drawingalittleawayfromhim.

           "Wedon’thavetobelieveit!"Taggart’svoicehadtheflat,insistentsoundofanefforttomaintainatrance."Nobody’seversaiditbefore!

           It’sjustoneman!Wedon’thavetobelieveit!"

           "Takeiteasy,"saidMr.Thompson.

           "Whyishesosurehe’sright?Whoishetogoagainstthewholeworld,againsteverythingeversaidforcenturiesandcenturies?Whoishetoknow?Nobodycanbesure!Nobodycanknowwhat’sright!Thereisn’tanyright!"

           "Shutup!"yelledMr.Thompson.