Атлант расправил плечи

           Mouchwasdrawingaway,pressingagainstthebackofhisarmchair.Taggartwassittingontheedgeofhis,leaningforward.

           "Numberone,gradual,"saidFerris.

           Galt’storsojerkedupwardandfellbackandtwistedinlongshudders,strainingagainsthisstrappedwrists—asthecurrentwasnowrunningfromhisonewristtotheother,acrosshislungs.Themechanicwasslowlyturningaknob,increasingthevoltageofthecurrent;theneedleonthedialwasmovingtowardtheredsegmentthatmarkeddanger.Galt’sbreathwascominginbroken,pantingsoundsoutofconvulsedlungs.

           "Hadenough?"snarledFerris,whenthecurrentwentoff.

           Galtdidnotanswer.Hislipsmovedfaintly,openingforair.Thebeatfromthestethoscopewasracing.Buthisbreathwasfallingtoanevenrhythm,byacontrolledeffortatrelaxation.

           "You’retooeasyonhim!"yelledTaggart,staringatthenakedbodyonthemattress.

           Galtopenedhiseyesandglancedatthemforamoment.Theycouldtellnothing,exceptthathisglancewassteadyandfullyconscious.Thenhedroppedhisheadagainandlaystill,asifhehadforgottenthem.

           Hisnakedbodylookedstrangelyoutofplaceinthiscellar.Theyknewit,thoughnoneofthemwouldidentifythatknowledge.