Атлант расправил плечи
The Chain
Philipsatinalowchair,hisstomachforward,hisweightonhisshoulderblades,asifthemiserablediscomfortofhispositionwereintendedtopunishtheonlookers.
"What’sthematter,Phil?"Reardenasked,approachinghim."Youlookdonein."
"I’vehadahardday,"saidPhilipsullenly.
"You’renottheonlyonewhoworkshard,"saidhismother."Othershaveproblems,too—evenifthey’renotbillion-dollar,trans-super-continentalproblemslikeyours."
"Why,that’sgood.IalwaysthoughtthatPhilshouldfindsomeinterestofhisown."
"Good?Youmeanyouliketoseeyourbrothersweatinghishealthaway?Itamusesyou,doesn’tit?Ialwaysthoughtitdid."
"Why,no,Mother.I’dliketohelp."
"Youdon’thavetohelp.Youdon’thavetofeelanythingforanyofus."
Reardenhadneverknownwhathisbrotherwasdoingorwishedtodo.HehadsentPhilipthroughcollege,butPhiliphadnotbeenabletodecideonanyspecificambition.Therewassomethingwrong,byRearden’sstandards,withamanwhodidnotseekanygainfulemployment,buthewouldnotimposehisstandardsonPhilip;hecouldaffordtosupporthisbrotherandnevernoticetheexpense.Lethimtakeiteasy,Reardenhadthoughtforyears,lethimhaveachancetochoosehiscareerwithoutthestrainofstrugglingforalivelihood.
"Whatwereyoudoingtoday,Phil?"heaskedpatiently.
"Itwouldn’tinterestyou."
"Itdoesinterestme.That’swhyI’masking."
