Атлант расправил плечи
The Man who belonged on Earth
Shesatlowintheseat,leaningback,lookingupatthesnowflakes.Thefurcapewaswrappedtightlyabouther;withinit,herdressfeltaslightasanightgownandthefeelofthecapewaslikeanembrace.
Shelookedattheangulartiersoflightsrisingthroughthesnowycurtain,and—glancingathim,atthegripofhisglovedhandsonthewheel,attheaustere,fastidiouseleganceofthefigureinblackovercoatandwhitemuffler—shethoughtthathebelongedinagreatcity,amongpolishedsidewalksandsculpturedstone.
Thecarwentdownintoatunnel,streakedthroughanechoingtubeoftileundertheriverandrosetothecoilsofanelevatedhighwayunderanopenblacksky.Thelightswerebelowthemnow,spreadinflatmilesofbluishwindows,ofsmokestacks,slantingcranes,redgustsoffire,andlong,dimrayssilhouettingthecontortedshapesofanindustrialdistrict.Shethoughtthatshehadseenhimonce,athismills,withsmudgesofsootonhisforehead,dressedinacid-eatenoveralls;hehadwornthemasnaturallywellasheworehisformalclothes.Hebelongedhere,too—shethought,lookingdownattheflatsofNewJersey—amongthecranes,thefiresandthegrindingclatterofgears.
