Атлант расправил плечи
The Man who belonged on Earth
HewishedDr.Ferriswouldcome.Heglancedathiswatch:Dr.Ferriswaslate—anastonishingmatter—lateforanappointmentwithhim—Dr.FloydFerris,thevaletofscience,whohadalwaysfacedhiminamannerthatsuggestedanapologyforhavingbutonehattotakeoff.
ThiswasoutrageousweatherforthemonthofMay,hethought,lookingdownattheriver;itwascertainlytheweatherthatmadehimfeelashedid,notthebook.Hehadplacedthebookinplainviewonhisdesk,whenhehadnotedthathisreluctancetoseeitwasmorethanmererevulsion,thatitcontainedtheelementofanemotionnevertobeadmitted.Hetoldhimselfthathehadrisenfromhisdesk,notbecausethebooklaythere,butmerelybecausehehadwantedtomove,feelingcold.Hepacedtheroom,trappedbetweenthedeskandthewindow.Hewouldthrowthatbookintheashcanwhereitbelonged,hethought,justassoonashehadspokentoDr.Ferris.
Hewatchedthepatchofgreenandsunlightonthedistanthill,thepromiseofspringinaworldthatlookedasifnograssorbudwouldeverfunctionagain.Hesmiledeagerly—andwhenthepatchvanished,hefeltastabofhumiliation,athisowneagerness,atthedesperatewayhehadwantedtoholdit.Itremindedhimofthatinterviewwiththeeminentnovelist,lastwinter.
