Атлант расправил плечи
The Exploiters and the Exploited
Hisface,shethought,andthecold,radiantclarityofhisvoice,ofhismind,ofhisdrivetoasinglepurpose.Thefacewaslikehiswords—asifthelineofasinglethemeranfromthesteadyglanceoftheeyes,throughthegauntmusclesofthecheeks,tothefaintlyscornful,downwardcurveofthemouth—thelineofaruthlessasceticism.
Thedaybeganwiththenewsofadisaster:afreighttrainoftheAtlanticSouthernhadcrashedhead-onintoapassengertrain,inNewMexico,onasharpcurveinthemountains,scatteringfreightcarsallovertheslopes.Thecarscarriedfivethousandtonsofcopper,boundfromamineinArizonatotheReardenmills,ReardentelephonedthegeneralmanageroftheAtlanticSouthern,buttheanswerhereceivedwas:"OhGod,Mr.Rearden,howcanwetell?Howcananybodytellhowlongitwilltaketoclearthatwreck?
Oneoftheworstwe’veeverhad...Idon’tknow,Mr.Rearden.
Therearenootherlinesanywhereinthatsection.Thetrackistornfortwelvehundredfeet.There’sbeenarockslide.Ourwreckingtraincan’tgetthrough.Idon’tknowhowwe’llevergetthosefreightcarsbackonrails,orwhen.Can’texpectitsoonerthantwoweeks...
Threedays?Impossible,Mr.Rearden!...Butwecan’thelpit!
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