Атлант расправил плечи

           WhenhereachedtheemptydarknessbeyondPhiladelphia—intheplacewheretheflamesofReardenSteelhadforyearsbeenhisfavoritelandmark,hisgreetinginthelonelinessofnight,thebeaconofalivingearth—hesawasnow-coveredspread,dead-whiteandphosphorescentinthestarlight,aspreadofpeaksandcratersthatlookedlikethesurfaceofthemoon.

           Hequithisjob,nextmorning.

           Throughthefrozennights,overdyingcities,knockinginvainatunansweringwindows,beatingonunechoingwalls,risingabovetheroofsoflightlessbuildingsandtheskeletalgirdersofruins,thepleawentoncryingthroughspace,cryingtothestationarymotionofthestars,totheheatlessfireoftheirtwinkling:"Canyouhearus,JohnGalt?Canyouhearus?"

           "MissTaggart,wedon’tknowwhattodo,"saidMr.Thompson;hehadsummonedhertoapersonalconferenceononeofhisscurryingtripstoNewYork."We’rereadytogivein,tomeethisterms,tolethimtakeover—butwhereishe?"

           "Forthethirdtime,"shesaid,herfaceandvoiceshuttightagainstanyfissureofemotion,"Idonotknowwhereheis.WhatmadeyouthinkIdid?"

           "Well,Ididn’tknow,Ihadtotry...Ithought,justincase...

           Ithought,maybeifyouhadawaytoreachhim—"

           "Ihaven’t."

           "Yousee,wecan’tannounce,notevenbyshort-waveradio,thatwe’rewillingtosurrenderaltogether.Peoplemighthearit.