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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 1135/1581
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For
a
moment
,
she
remained
still
,
trying
to
grasp
the
peculiar
stillness
around
her
.
It
felt
like
the
impossible
attempt
to
create
a
sensory
image
of
non
-
existence
.
There
were
no
attributes
of
reality
to
perceive
,
nothing
but
their
absence
:
no
sound
,
as
if
she
were
alone
on
the
train
—
no
motion
,
as
if
this
were
not
a
train
,
but
a
room
in
a
building
—
no
light
,
as
if
this
were
neither
train
nor
room
,
but
space
without
objects
—
no
sign
of
violence
or
physical
disaster
,
as
if
this
were
the
state
where
disaster
is
no
longer
possible
.
In
the
moment
when
she
grasped
the
nature
of
the
stillness
,
her
body
sprang
upright
with
a
single
curve
of
motion
,
immediate
and
violent
like
a
cry
of
rebellion
.
The
loud
screech
of
the
window
shade
went
like
a
knife
-
cut
through
the
silence
,
as
she
threw
the
shade
upward
.
There
was
nothing
outside
but
anonymous
stretches
of
prairie
;
a
strong
wind
was
breaking
the
clouds
,
and
a
shaft
of
moonlight
fell
through
,
but
it
fell
upon
plains
that
seemed
as
dead
as
those
from
which
it
came
.
The
sweep
of
her
hand
pressed
the
light
switch
and
the
bell
to
summon
the
porter
.
The
electric
light
came
on
and
brought
her
back
to
a
rational
world
.
She
glanced
at
her
watch
:
it
was
a
few
minutes
past
midnight
.
She
looked
out
of
the
rear
window
:
the
track
went
off
in
a
straight
line
and
,
at
the
prescribed
distance
,
she
saw
the
red
lanterns
left
on
the
ground
,
placed
conscientiously
to
protect
the
rear
of
the
train
.
The
sight
seemed
reassuring
.
She
pressed
the
porter
’
s
bell
once
more
.
She
waited
.
She
went
to
the
vestibule
,
unlocked
the
door
and
leaned
out
to
look
down
the
line
of
the
train
.
A
few
windows
were
lighted
in
the
long
,
tapering
band
of
steel
,
but
she
saw
no
figures
,
no
sign
of
human
activity
.
She
slammed
the
door
,
came
back
and
started
to
dress
,
her
movements
suddenly
calm
and
swift
.
No
one
came
to
answer
her
bell
.
When
she
hastened
across
to
the
next
car
,
she
felt
no
fear
,
no
uncertainty
,
no
despair
,
nothing
but
the
urgency
of
action
.
There
was
no
porter
in
the
cubbyhole
of
the
next
car
,
no
porter
in
the
car
beyond
.
She
hurried
down
the
narrow
passageways
,
meeting
no
one
.
But
a
few
compartment
doors
were
open
.
The
passengers
sat
inside
,
dressed
or
half
-
dressed
,
silently
,
as
if
waiting
.
They
watched
her
rush
by
with
oddly
furtive
glances
,
as
if
they
knew
what
she
was
after
,
as
if
they
had
expected
someone
to
come
and
to
face
what
they
had
not
faced
.
She
went
on
,
running
down
the
spinal
cord
of
a
dead
train
,
noting
the
peculiar
combination
of
lighted
compartments
,
open
doors
and
empty
passages
:
no
one
had
ventured
to
step
out
.
No
one
had
wanted
to
ask
the
first
question
.
She
ran
through
the
train
’
s
only
coach
,
where
some
passengers
slept
in
contorted
poses
of
exhaustion
,
while
others
,
awake
and
still
,
sat
hunched
,
like
animals
waiting
for
a
blow
,
making
no
move
to
avert
it
.
In
the
vestibule
of
the
coach
,
she
stopped
.
She
saw
a
man
,
who
had
unlocked
the
door
and
was
leaning
out
,
looking
inquiringly
ahead
through
the
darkness
,
ready
to
step
off
.
He
turned
at
the
sound
of
her
approach
.
She
recognized
his
face
:
it
was
Owen
Kellogg
,
the
man
who
had
rejected
the
future
she
had
once
offered
him
.
"
Kellogg
!
"
she
gasped
,
the
sound
of
laughter
in
her
voice
like
a
cry
of
relief
at
the
sudden
sight
of
a
man
in
a
desert
.
"
Hello
,
Miss
Taggart
,
"
he
answered
,
with
an
astonished
smile
that
held
a
touch
of
incredulous
pleasure
—
and
of
wistfulness
.
"
I
didn
’
t
know
you
were
aboard
.
"
