Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
Imean,howfar?"
"Yeah.Somewhere."
Inthevacantspacebythesideofthehouse,theysawfadedragshangingonaclothesline,whichwasapieceoftelegraphwire.Threechickenspeckedamongthebedsofascragglyvegetablegarden;afourthsatroostingonabarwhichwasalengthofplumber’spipe.Twopigswaddledinastretchofmudandrefuse;thesteppingstoneslaidacrossthemuckwerepiecesofthehighway’sconcrete.
Theyheardascreechingsoundinthedistanceandsawamandrawingwaterfromapublicwellbymeansofaropepulley.Theywatchedhimashecameslowlydownthestreet.Hecarriedtwobucketsthatseemedtooheavyforhisthinarms.Onecouldnottellhisage.
Heapproachedandstopped,lookingatthecar.Hiseyesdartedatthestrangers,thenaway,suspiciousandfurtive.
Reardentookoutaten-dollarbillandextendedittohim,asking,"Wouldyoupleasetellusthewaytothefactory?"
Themanstaredatthemoneywithsullenindifference,notmoving,notliftingahandforit,stillclutchingthetwobuckets.Ifonewereevertoseeamandevoidofgreed,thoughtDagny,therehewas.
"Wedon’tneednomoneyaroundhere,"hesaid.
"Don’tyouworkforaliving?"
"Yeah.
