Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
"
"Whendiditrainlast?"
"Yesterday."
"Isthereanotherroad?"
"Well,youcouldgothroughHanson’spastureandacrossthewoodsandthenthere’sagood,solidroadthere,allthewaydowntothecreek."
"Isthereabridgeacrossthecreek?"
"No."
"Whataretheotherroads?"
"Well,ifit’sacarroadthatyouwant,there’sonetheothersideofMiller’spatch,it’spaved,it’sthebestroadforacar,youjustturntotherightbytheschoolhouseand—"
"Butthatroaddoesn’tgotothefactory,doesit?"
"No,nottothefactory."
"Allright,"saidRearden."Guesswe’llfindourownway."
Hehadpressedthestarter,whenarockcamesmashingintothewindshield.Theglasswasshatterproof,butasunburstofcracksspreadacrossit.Theysawaraggedlittlehoodlumvanishingbehindacornerwithascreamoflaughter,andtheyheardtheshrilllaughterofchildrenansweringhimfrombehindsomewindowsorcrevices.
Reardensuppressedaswearword.Themanlookedvapidlyacrossthestreet,frowningalittle.Theoldwomanlookedon,withoutreaction.
