Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
Heheldherbodyasiftheviolenceandthedespairofthewayhetookhercouldwipehisunknownrivaloutofexistence,outofherpast,andmore:asifitcouldtransformanypartofher,eventherival,intoaninstrumentofhispleasure.Heknew,bytheeagernessofhermovementasherarmsseizedhim,thatthiswasthewayshewantedtobetaken.
Thesilhouetteofaconveyorbeltmovedagainstthestripsoffireinthesky,raisingcoaltothetopofadistanttower,asifaninexhaustiblenumberofsmallblackbucketsrodeoutoftheearthinadiagonallineacrossthesunset.Theharsh,distantclatterkeptgoingthroughtherattleofthechainswhichayoungmaninblueoverallswasfasteningoverthemachinery,securingittotheflatcarslinedonthesidingoftheQuinnBallBearingCompanyofConnecticut.
Mr.Mowen,oftheAmalgamatedSwitchandSignalCompanyacrossthestreet,stoodby,watching.Hehadstoppedtowatch,onhiswayhomefromhisownplant.Heworealightovercoatstretchedoverhisshort,paunchyfigure,andaderbyhatoverhisgraying,blondishhead.
TherewasafirsttouchofSeptemberchillintheair.AllthegatesoftheQuinnplantbuildingsstoodwideopen,whilemenandcranesmovedthemachineryout;liketakingthevitalorgansandleavingacarcass,thoughtMr.Mowen.
"Anotherone?"askedMr.Mowen,jerkinghisthumbattheplant,eventhoughheknewtheanswer.
