Атлант расправил плечи
The John Galt line
Withoutconsciousintention,peoplewerebeginningtostandstill.
ThedispatcherhadreceivedwordfromeverylocaloperatoralongthelineofrailthatwoundthroughthemountainstotheWyattoilfieldsthreehundredmilesaway.Hecameoutofthestationbuildingand,lookingatDagny,gavethesignalforcleartrackahead.Standingbytheengine,Dagnyraisedherhand,repeatinghisgestureinsignofanorderreceivedandunderstood.
Thelonglineofboxcarsstretchedoffintothedistance,inspaced,rectangularlinks,likeaspinalcord.Whentheconductor’sarmsweptthroughtheair,farattheend,shemovedherarminansweringsignal.
Rearden,LoganandMcKimstoodsilently,asifatattention,lettingherbefirsttogetaboard.Asshestarteduptherungsonthesideoftheengine,areporterthoughtofaquestionhehadnotasked.
"MissTaggart,"hecalledafterher,"whoisJohnGalt?"
Sheturned,hangingontoametalbarwithonehand,suspendedforaninstantabovetheheadsofthecrowd.
"Weare!"sheanswered.
Loganfollowedherintothecab,thenMcKim;Reardenwentlast,thenthedooroftheenginewasshut,withthetightfinalityofsealedmetal.
Thelights,hangingonasignalbridgeagainstthesky,weregreen.
