Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
Therewasthefaintsuggestionofacontemptuoussmileinhisface,atonceadmittingandmockinghisknowledgeofherhoursofimpatienceandhisown.Hestoodinthemiddleofherlivingroom,lookingslowlyaroundhim;thiswasherapartment,theoneplaceinthecitythathadbeenthefocusoftwoyearsofhistorment,astheplacehecouldnotthinkaboutanddid,theplacehecouldnotenter—andwasnowenteringwiththecasual,unannouncedrightofanowner.Hesatdowninanarmchair,stretchinghislegsforward—andshestoodbeforehim,almostasifsheneededhispermissiontositdownanditgaveherpleasuretowait.
"ShallItellyouthatyoudidamagnificentjob,buildingthatLine?"heasked.Sheglancedathiminastonishment;hehadneverpaidheropencomplimentsofthatkind;theadmirationinhisvoicewasgenuine,butthehintofmockeryremainedinhisface,andshefeltasifhewerespeakingtosomepurposewhichshecouldnotguess."I’vespentalldayansweringquestionsaboutyou—andabouttheLine,theMetalandthefuture.That,andcountingtheordersfortheMetal.They’recominginattherateofthousandsoftonsanhour.Whenwasit,ninemonthsago?—Icouldn’tgetasingleansweranywhere.Today,Ihadtocutoffmyphone,nottolistentoallthepeoplewhowantedtospeaktomepersonallyabouttheirurgentneedofReardenMetal.Whatdidyoudotoday?"
"Idon’tknow.
