Атлант расправил плечи
The Non-commercial
"Well,BertramScuddersaidthatyourpolicy—"themanstartedbelligerently,pointingtowardthebar,butstopped,asifhehadslidfartherthanheintended.
Reardenlookedattheuntidyfigureslouchedagainstthebar.Lillianhadintroducedthem,buthehadpaidnoattentiontothename.Heturnedsharplyandwalkedoff,inamannerthatforbadetheyoungbumtotaghim.
Lillianglancedupathisface,whenReardenapproachedherinthemidstofagroup,and,withoutaword,steppedasidewheretheycouldnotbeheard.
"IsthatScudderofTheFuture?"heasked,pointing.
"Why,yes."
Helookedathersilently,unabletobegintobelieveit,unabletofindtheleadofathoughtwithwhichtobegintounderstand.Hereyeswerewatchinghim.
"Howcouldyouinvitehimhere?"heasked.
"Now,Henry,don’tlet’sberidiculous.Youdon’twanttobenarrow-minded,doyou?Youmustlearntotoleratetheopinionsofothersandrespecttheirrightoffreespeech."
"Inmyhouse?"
"Oh,don’tbestuffy!"
Hedidnotspeak,becausehisconsciousnesswasheld,notbycoherentstatements,butbytwopicturesthatseemedtoglareathiminsistently.Hesawthearticle,"TheOctopus,"byBertramScudder,whichwasnotanexpressionofideas,butabucketofslimeemptiedinpublic—anarticlethatdidnotcontainasinglefact,notevenaninventedone,butpouredastreamofsneersandadjectivesinwhichnothingwasclearexceptthefilthymaliceofdenouncingwithoutconsideringproofnecessary.
