Атлант расправил плечи
The John Galt line
EddieWillersraisedhishandasthehandofthestationclockreachedtheinstantoffour.
"Openherup,Pat!"hecalled.
Inthemomentwhentheenginestartedforward,hecutthewhiteribbonandleapedoutoftheway.
Fromthesidetrack,hesawthewindowofthecabgobyandDagnywavingtohiminanansweringsalute.Thentheenginewasgone,andhestoodlookingacrossatthecrowdedplatformthatkeptappearingandvanishingasthefreightcarsclickedpasthim.
Thegreen-bluerailsrantomeetthem,liketwojetsshotoutofasinglepointbeyondthecurveoftheearth.Thecrosstiesmelted,astheyapproached,intoasmoothstreamrollingdownunderthewheels.Ablurredstreakclungtothesideoftheengine,lowovertheground.Treesandtelegraphpolessprangintosightabruptlyandwentbyasifjerkedback.Thegreenplainsstretchedpast,inaleisurelyflow.Attheedgeofthesky,alongwaveofmountainsreversedthemovementandseemedtofollowthetrain.
Shefeltnowheelsunderthefloor.Themotionwasasmoothflightonasustainedimpulse,asiftheenginehungabovetherails,ridingacurrent.Shefeltnospeed.Itseemedstrangethatthegreenlightsofthesignalskeptcomingatthemandpast,everyfewseconds.Sheknewthatthesignallightswerespacedtwomilesapart.
TheneedleonthespeedometerinfrontofPatLoganstoodatonehundred.
