Атлант расправил плечи
The Sanction of the Victim
"Don’tyouknowit’saholiday?"
"Oh,Iletthegirlsoff,butIjustcameintofinishsomebusiness."
"Whatbusiness?"
"Oh,lettersand...Oh,hell,Isignedthreelettersandsharpenedmypencils,IknowIdidn’thavetodoittoday,butIhadnothingtodoathomeand...Igetlonesomeawayfromthisplace."
"Don’tyouhaveanyfamily?"
"No...nottospeakof.Whataboutyou,Mr.Rearden?Don’tyouhaveany?"
"Iguess—nottospeakof."
"Ilikethisplace.Iliketohangaround...Youknow,Mr.Rearden,whatIstudiedtobewasametallurgist."
Walkingaway,ReardenhadturnedtoglancebackandhadcaughttheWetNurselookingafterhimasaboywouldlookattheheroofhischildhood’sfavoriteadventurestory.Godhelpthepoorlittlebastard!—hehadthought.
Godhelpthemall—hethought,drivingthroughthedarkstreetsofasmalltown,borrowing,incontemptuouspity,thewordsoftheirbeliefwhichhehadnevershared.Hesawnewspapersdisplayedonmetalstands,withtheblacklettersofheadlinesscreamingtoemptycorners:"RailroadDisaster."Hehadheardthenewsontheradio,thatafternoon:therehadbeenawreckonthemainlineofTaggartTranscontinental,nearRockland,Wyoming;asplitrailhadsentafreighttraincrashingovertheedgeofacanyon.
