Атлант расправил плечи

           Sheheardtherising,acceleratingsoundofthewheels—andsomethemeofmusic,heardtotherhythmofwheels,kepttuggingathermind,growinglouder—itburstsuddenlywithinthecab,butsheknewthatitwasonlyinhermind;theFifthConcertobyRichardHalley—shethought:didhewriteitforthis?hadheknownafeelingsuchasthis?—theyweregoingfaster,theyhadlefttheground,shethought,flungoffbythemountainsasbyaspringboard,theywerenowsailingthroughspace—it’snotafairtest,shethought,we’renotgoingtotouchthatbridge—shesawRearden’sfaceaboveher,sheheldhiseyesandherheadleanedback,sothatherfacelaystillontheairunderhisface—theyheardaringingblastofmetal,theyheardadrumrollundertheirfeet,thediagonalsofthebridgewentsmearingacrossthewindowswiththesoundofametalrodbeingrunalongthepicketsofafence—thenthewindowsweretoosuddenlyclear,thesweepoftheirdownwardplungewascarryingthemupahill,thederricksofWyattOilwerereelingbeforethem—PatLoganturned,glancingupatReardenwiththehintofasmile—andReardensaid,"That’sthat."

           Thesignontheedgeofaroofread:WyattJunction.Shestared,feelingthattherewassomethingoddaboutit,untilshegraspedwhatitwas:thesigndidnotmove.Thesharpestjoltofthejourneywastherealizationthattheenginestoodstill.

           Sheheardvoicessomewhere,shelookeddownandsawthattherewerepeopleontheplatform.