Атлант расправил плечи

           Therewasacoldwindoutside,andanemptystretchoflandunderanemptysky. Sheheardweedsrustlinginthedarkness. Farahead,shesawthefiguresofmenstandingbytheengine—andabovethem,hangingdetachedinthesky,theredlightofasignal. 

           Shewalkedrapidlytowardthem,pastthemotionlesslineofwheels. Noonepaidattentiontoherwhensheapproached. Thetraincrewandafewpassengersstoodclusteredundertheredlight. Theyhadstoppedtalking,theyseemedtobewaitinginplacidindifference. 

           "What’sthematter?"sheasked. 

           Theengineerturned,astonished. Herquestionhadsoundedlikeanorder,notliketheamateurcuriosityofapassenger. Shestood,handsinpockets,coatcollarraised,thewindbeatingherhairinstrandsacrossherface. 

           "Redlight,lady,"hesaid,pointingupwithhisthumb. 

           "Howlonghasitbeenon?" 

           "Anhour." 

           "We’reoffthemaintrack,aren’twe?" 

           "That’sright." 

           "Why?" 

           "Idon’tknow." 

           Theconductorspokeup. "Idon’tthinkwehadanybusinessbeingsentoffonasiding,thatswitchwasn’tworkingright,andthisthing’snotworkingatall." Hejerkedhisheadupattheredlight. "Idon’tthinkthesignal’sgoingtochange.Ithinkit’sbusted." 

           "Thenwhatareyoudoing?" 

           "Waitingforittochange." 

           Inherpauseofstartledanger,thefiremanchuckled. "Lastweek,thecrackspecialoftheAtlanticSoutherngotleftonasidingfortwohours—justsomebody’smistake." 

           "ThisistheTaggartComet,"shesaid."TheComethasneverbeenlate."