Атлант расправил плечи
The John Galt line
Thedoorwassomestepsaway;shecouldnotseehim,orthestreetlightbeyond,onlyhisshadowonthestonesofthepavement.Hestoodperfectlystill.
Hewassoclosetothedoor,likeamanabouttoenter,thatshewaitedtohearhimknock.Instead,shesawtheshadowjerkabruptly,asifhewerejoltedbackward,thenheturnedandwalkedaway.Therewasonlytheoutlineofhishatbrimandshouldersleftontheground,whenhestopped.Theshadowlaystillforamoment,wavered,andgrewlongeragainashecameback.
Shefeltnofear.Shesatatherdesk,motionless,watchinginblankwonder.Hestoppedatthedoor,thenbackedawayfromit;hestoodsomewhereinthemiddleofthealley,thenpacedrestlesslyandstoppedagain.Hisshadowswunglikeanirregularpendulumacrossthepavement,describingthecourseofasoundlessbattle:itwasamanfightinghimselftoenterthatdoorortoescape.
Shelookedon,withpeculiardetachment.Shehadnopowertoreact,onlytoobserve.Shewonderednumbly,distantly:Whowashe?Hadhebeenwatchingherfromsomewhereinthedarkness?Hadheseenherslumpedacrossherdesk,inthelighted,nakedwindow?Hadhewatchedherdesolatelonelinessasshewasnowwatchinghis?Shefeltnothing.
Theywerealoneinthesilenceofadeadcity—itseemedtoherthathewasmilesaway,areflectionofsufferingwithoutidentity,afellowsurvivorwhoseproblemwasasdistanttoherasherswouldbetohim.
