Атлант расправил плечи
The Top and the Bottom
Themines,saidFranciscod‘Anconia,werestillintheprocessofdevelopment.ThedrainonTaggartTranscontinentalhadnotstopped.
Nowshesatatthedeskinheroffice,asshehadsatformanyevenings,tryingtoworkouttheproblemofwhatbranchescouldsavethesystemandinhowmanyyears.
TheRioNorteLine,whenrebuilt,wouldredeemtherest.Asshelookedatthesheetsoffiguresannouncinglossesandmorelosses,shedidnotthinkofthelong,senselessagonyoftheMexicanventure.Shethoughtofatelephonecall."Hank,canyousaveus?Canyougiveusrailontheshortestnoticeandthelongestcreditpossible?"Aquiet,steadyvoicehadanswered,"Sure."
Thethoughtwasapointofsupport.Sheleanedoverthesheetsofpaperonherdesk,findingitsuddenlyeasiertoconcentrate.Therewasonething,atleast,thatcouldbecounteduponnottocrumblewhenneeded.
JamesTaggartcrossedtheanteroomofDagny’soffice,stillholdingthekindofconfidencehehadfeltamonghiscompanionsatthebarroomhalfanhourago.Whenheopenedherdoor,theconfidencevanished.Hecrossedtheroomtoherdesklikeachildbeingdraggedtopunishment,storingtheresentmentforallhisfutureyears.
Hesawaheadbentoversheetsofpaper,thelightofthedesklampglisteningonstrandsofdisheveledhair,awhiteshirtclingingtohershoulders,itsloosefoldssuggestingthethinnessofherbody.
"Whatisit,Jim?"
"WhatareyoutryingtopullontheSanSebastiánLine?"
Sheraisedherhead.
