Атлант расправил плечи

           Sohedidnotattempttodelayit,butmadehimselfwalkfaster. 

           Heturnedacorner.Inthenarrowspacebetweenthedarksilhouettesoftwobuildings,asinthecrackofadoor,hesawthepageofagiganticcalendarsuspendedinthesky. 

           ItwasthecalendarthatthemayorofNewYorkhaderectedlastyearonthetopofabuilding,sothatcitizensmighttellthedayofthemonthastheytoldthehoursoftheday,byglancingupatapublictower. Awhiterectanglehungoverthecity,impartingthedatetothemeninthestreetsbelow. Intherustylightofthisevening’ssunset,therectanglesaid:September2. 

           EddieWillerslookedaway. Hehadneverlikedthesightofthatcalendar.Itdisturbedhim,inamannerhecouldnotexplainordefine. Thefeelingseemedtoblendwithhissenseofuneasiness;ithadthesamequality. 

           Hethoughtsuddenlythattherewassomephrase,akindofquotation,thatexpressedwhatthecalendarseemedtosuggest. Buthecouldnotrecallit.Hewalked,gropingforasentencethathunginhismindasanemptyshape.Hecouldneitherfillitnordismissit. Heglancedback.Thewhiterectanglestoodabovetheroofs,sayinginimmovablefinality:September2. 

           EddieWillersshiftedhisglancedowntothestreet,toavegetablepushcartatthestoopofabrownstonehouse.Hesawapileofbrightgoldcarrotsandthefreshgreenofonions. Hesawacleanwhitecurtainblowingatanopenwindow.Hesawabusturningacorner,expertlysteered.