Атлант расправил плечи
Wyatt’s torch
Wipingouttherest,fillingherconsciousness,leavingnoroomforwords,notimeforwonder,asaglaringanswertothequestionsshehadnotbeguntoask,stoodtwopictures:EllisWyatt’simplacablefigureinfrontofherdesk,saying,"Itisnowinyourpowertodestroyme;Imayhavetogo;butifIgo,I’llmakesurethatItakealltherestofyoualongwithme"—andthecirclingviolenceofEllisWyatt’sbodywhenheflungaglasstoshatteragainstthewall.
Theonlyconsciousnessthepicturesleftherwasthefeelingoftheapproachofsomeunthinkabledisaster,andthefeelingthatshehadtooutrunit.ShehadtoreachEllisWyattandstophim.Shedidnotknowwhatitwasthatshehadtoprevent.Sheknewonlythatshehadtostophim.
Andbecause,wereshelyingcrushedundertheruinsofabuilding,wereshetornbythebombofanairraid,solongasshewasstillinexistenceshewouldknowthatactionisman’sforemostobligation,regardlessofanythinghefeels—shewasabletorundowntheplatformandtoseethefaceofthestationmasterwhenshefoundhim—shewasabletoorder:"HoldNumber57forme!"—thentoruntotheprivacyofatelephoneboothinthedarknessbeyondtheendoftheplatform,andtogivethelong-distanceoperatorthenumberofEllisWyatt’shouse.
Shestood,proppedupbythewallsofthebooth,hereyesclosed,andlistenedtothedeadwhirlofmetalwhichwasthesoundofabellringingsomewhere.Itbroughtnoanswer.
