Атлант расправил плечи

           First,theysawtheloneshapes,whichwerefactories,rollingacrosstheirwindowpanes—thentheshapesfusedintotheblurofstreets—thenadeltaofrailsspreadoutbeforethem,likethemouthofafunnelsuckingthemintotheTaggartstation,withnothingtoprotectthembutthesmallgreenbeadsoflightsscatteredovertheground—fromtheheightofthecab,theysawboxcarsonsidingsstreakpastasflatribbonsofrooftops—theblackholeofthetrain-shedflewattheirfaces—theyhurtledthroughanexplosionofsound,thebeatingofwheelsagainsttheglasspanesofavault,andthescreamsofcheeringfromamassthatswayedlikealiquidinthedarknessamongsteelcolumns—theyflewtowardaglowingarchandthegreenlightshangingintheopenskybeyond,thegreenlightsthatwerelikethedoorknobsofspace,throwingdoorafterdooropenbeforethem.Then,vanishingbehindthem,wentthestreetsclottedwithtraffic,theopenwindowsbulgingwithhumanfigures,thescreamingsirens,and—fromthetopofadistantskyscraper—acloudofpapersnowflakesshimmeringontheair,flungbysomeonewhosawthepassageofasilverbulletacrossacitystoppedstilltowatchit.

           Thentheywereoutagain,onarockygrade—andwithshockingsuddenness,themountainswerebeforethem,asifthecityhadflungthemstraightatagranitewall,andathinledgehadcaughtthemintime.