Атлант расправил плечи
The Sanction of the Victim
Well,itgavemethecreepstoseewhatshe’scometo—justatoothlessoldhag,wrappedinaman’sovercoat,panhandlingonastreetcorner.AndIthought:Thatcould’vebeenme,butforthegraceofGod."
"Well,ifthanksareinorder,"saidLilliangaily,"Ithinkthatweshouldn’tforgetGertrude,thenewcook.She’sanartist."
"Me,I’mjustgoingtobeold-fashioned,"saidPhilip."I’mjustgoingtothankthesweetestmotherintheworld."
"Well,forthematterofthat,"saidRearden’smother,"weoughttothankLillianforthisdinnerandforallthetroubleshetooktomakeitsopretty.Shespenthoursfixingthetable.It’srealquaintanddifferent."
"It’sthewoodenshoethatdoesit,"saidPhilip,bendinghisheadsidewisetostudyitinamannerofcriticalappreciation."That’stherealtouch.Anybodycanhavecandles,silverwareandjunk,thatdoesn’ttakeanythingbutmoney—butthisshoe,thattookthought."
Reardensaidnothing.Thecandlelightmovedoverhismotionlessfaceasoveraportrait;theportraitboreanexpressionofimpersonalcourtesy.
"Youhaven’ttouchedyourwine,"saidhismother,lookingathim.
"WhatIthinkisyououghttodrinkatoastingratitudetothepeopleofthiscountrywhohavegivenyousomuch."
"Henryisnotinthemoodforit,Mother,"saidLillian.
