Атлант расправил плечи

           TrainNumber57wasabouttostartdownthetrackoftheJohnGaltLine,throughthetowns,throughthecurvesofthemountains,pastthegreensignalswherepeoplehadstoodcheeringandthevalleyswhererocketshadrisentothesummersky.Twistedremnantsofleavesnowhungonthebranchesbeyondthetrain’sroofline,andthepassengersworefursandmufflers,astheyclimbedaboard.Theymovedwiththecasualmannerofadailyevent,withthesecurityofexpectingaperformancelongsincetakenforgranted...We’vedoneit—shethought—thismuch,atleast,isdone.

           Itwasthechanceconversationoftwomensomewherebehindherthatcamebeatingsuddenlyagainstherclosedattention.

           "Butlawsshouldn’tbepassedthatway,soquickly."

           "They’renotlaws,they’redirectives."

           "Thenit’sillegal."

           "It’snotillegal,becausetheLegislaturepassedalawlastmonthgivinghimthepowertoissuedirectives."

           "Idon’tthinkdirectivesshouldbesprungonpeoplethatway,outoftheblue,likeapunchinthenose."

           "Well,there’snotimetopalaverwhenit’sanationalemergency."

           "ButIdon’tthinkit’srightanditdoesn’tjibe.HowisReardengoingtodoit,whenitsayshere—"

           "WhyshouldyouworryaboutRearden?He’srichenough.Hecanfindawaytodoanything.