Атлант расправил плечи

           Itseemedtoherthatittookalongtime,asifherarmhadtomoveagainstsomeatmosphericpressurethatnohumanbodycouldcombat—andinthespanofthesefewbriefmoments,inthestillnessofablindingpain,sheknewwhatFranciscohadfelt,thatnight,twelveyearsago—andwhataboyoftwenty-sixhadfeltwhenhehadlookedathismotorforthelasttime.

           "MissTaggart!"criedthechiefengineer."Wedon’tknowwhattodo!"

           Thereceiverclickedsoftlybackintoitscradle."Idon’t,either,"sheanswered.

           Inamoment,sheknewitwasover.Sheheardhervoicetellingthemantocheckfurtherandreporttoherlater—andshewaitedforthesoundofhisstepstovanishintheechoingsilenceofthehall.

           CrossingtheconcourseoftheTerminalforthelasttime,sheglancedatthestatueofNathanielTaggart—andrememberedapromiseshehadmade.Itwouldbeonlyasymbolnow,shethought,butitwouldbethekindoffarewellthatNathanielTaggartdeserved.Shehadnootherwritinginstrument,soshetookthelipstickfromherbagand,smilingupatthemarblefaceofthemanwhowouldhaveunderstood,shedrewalargesignofthedollaronthepedestalunderhisfeet.

           Shewasfirsttoreachthecorner,twoblockseastoftheTerminalentrance.