Атлант расправил плечи
Account Overdrawn
Thebuildingstoodintact,likeacorpseinthatinstantwhenitseyeshavejustclosedandonestillwaitstoseethemopenagain.Shefeltthatthelightswouldflareupatanymomentbehindthegreatsheetsofwindows,underthelong,flatroofs.Thenshesawonebrokenpane,piercedbyastoneforsomeyoungmoron’senjoyment—andshesawthetall,drystemofasingleweedrisingfromthestepsofthemainentrance.Hitbyasudden,blindinghatred,inrebellionagainsttheweed’simpertinence,knowingofwhatenemythiswasthescout,sheranforward,shefellonherkneesandjerkedtheweedupbyitsroots.Then,kneelingonthestepsofaclosedfactory,lookingatthevastsilenceofmountains,brushanddusk,shethought:Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?
ItwasalmostdarkwhenshereachedtheendofthetiesthatledherbacktothetownofMarshville.MarshvillehadbeentheendoftheLineformonthspast;servicetoWyattJunctionhadbeendiscontinuedlongago;Dr.Ferris’ReclamationProjecthadbeenabandonedthiswinter.
Thestreetlightswereon,andtheyhunginmid-airattheintersections,inalong,diminishinglineofyellowglobesovertheemptystreetsofMarshville.Allthebetterhomeswereclosed—theneat,sturdyhousesofmodestcost,wellbuiltandwellkept;therewerefaded"ForSale"signsontheirlawns.
