Атлант расправил плечи
The Egoist
Lightswereseen,onceinawhile,onthedistanthorizonofaprairie,inthehills,ontheledgesofmountains,wherenobuildingshadbeenknowntoexist.Butnosoldierscouldbepersuadedtoinvestigatethesourcesofthoselights.
Onthedoorsofabandonedhouses,onthegatesofcrumblingfactories,onthewallsofgovernmentbuildings,thereappeared,onceinawhile,tracedinchalk,inpaint,inblood,thecurvingmarkwhichwasthesignofthedollar.
"Canyouhearus,JohnGalt?...Sendusword.Nameyourterms.
Wewillmeetanytermsyouset.Canyouhearus?"
Therewasnoanswer.
TheshaftofredsmokethatshottotheskyonthenightofJanuary22andstoodabnormallystillforawhile,likeasolemnmemorialobelisk,thenwaveredandsweptbackandforthacrossthesky,likeasearchlightsendingsomeundecipherablemessage,thenwentoutasabruptlyasithadcome,markedtheendofReardenSteel—buttheinhabitantsoftheareadidnotknowit.Theylearneditonlyonsubsequentnights,whenthey—whohadcursedthemillsforthesmoke,thefumes,thesootandthenoise—lookedoutand,insteadoftheglowpulsatingwithlifeontheirfamiliarhorizon,theysawablackvoid.
Themillshadbeennationalized,asthepropertyofadeserter.
