Атлант расправил плечи

           "

           Galtsmiled,shruggedandanswered,"WhoisJohnGalt?"

           AwhirlingmeshofsleethungovertheentranceoftheWayne-FalklandHotel,andthearmedguardslookedoddly,desolatelyhelplessinthecircleoflight:theystoodhunched,headsdown,huggingtheirgunsforwarmth—asif,weretheytoreleaseallthespittingviolenceoftheirbulletsatthestorm,itwouldnotbringcomforttotheirbodies.

           Fromacrossthestreet,ChickMorrison,theMoraleConditioner—onhiswaytoaconferenceonthefifty-ninthfloor—notedthattherare,lethargicpassers-bywerenottakingthetroubletoglanceattheguards,astheydidnottakethetroubletoglanceatthesoggyheadlinesofapileofunsoldnewspapersonthestandofaragged,shiveringvendor:"JohnGaltPromisesProsperity."

           ChickMorrisonshookhisheaduneasily:sixdaysoffront-pagestories—abouttheunitedeffortsofthecountry’sleadersworkingwithJohnGalttoshapenewpolicies—hadbroughtnoresults.Peopleweremoving,heobserved,asiftheydidnotcaretoseeanythingaroundthem.Noonetookanynoticeofhisexistence,exceptaraggedoldwomanwhostretchedoutherhandtohimsilently,asheapproachedthelightsoftheentrance;hehurriedpast,andonlydropsofsleetfellonthegnarled,nakedpalm.

           ItwashismemoryofthestreetsthatgaveajaggedsoundtoChickMorrison’svoice,whenhespoketoacircleoffacesinMr.Thompson’sroomonthefifty-ninthfloor.