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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 1189/1581
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"
Then
no
further
explanations
are
necessary
,
only
the
reminder
that
all
the
factual
evidence
—
hotel
registers
,
jewelry
bills
and
stuff
like
that
—
is
still
in
the
possession
of
the
right
persons
and
will
be
broadcast
on
every
radio
program
tomorrow
,
unless
you
appear
on
one
radio
program
tonight
.
Is
this
clear
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Now
what
is
your
answer
?
"
She
saw
the
luminous
scholar
-
eyes
looking
at
her
,
and
suddenly
she
felt
as
if
too
much
of
her
were
seen
and
as
if
she
were
not
seen
at
all
.
"
I
am
glad
that
you
have
told
me
,
"
said
Dagny
.
"
I
will
appear
on
Bertram
Scudder
’
s
broadcast
tonight
.
"
There
was
a
beam
of
white
light
beating
down
upon
the
glittering
metal
of
a
microphone
—
in
the
center
of
a
glass
cage
imprisoning
her
with
Bertram
Scudder
.
The
spark
of
glitter
were
greenish
-
blue
;
the
microphone
was
made
of
Rearden
Metal
.
Above
them
,
beyond
a
sheet
of
glass
,
she
could
distinguish
a
booth
with
two
rows
of
faces
looking
down
at
her
:
the
lax
,
anxious
face
of
James
Taggart
,
with
Lillian
Rearden
beside
him
,
her
hand
resting
reassuringly
on
his
arm
—
a
man
who
had
arrived
by
plane
from
Washington
and
had
been
introduced
to
her
as
Chick
Morrison
—
and
a
group
of
young
men
from
his
staff
,
who
talked
about
percentage
curves
of
intellectual
influence
and
acted
like
motorcycle
cops
.
Bertram
Scudder
seemed
to
be
afraid
of
her
.
He
clung
to
the
microphone
,
spitting
words
into
its
delicate
mesh
,
into
the
ears
of
the
country
,
introducing
the
subject
of
his
program
.
He
was
laboring
to
sound
cynical
,
skeptical
,
superior
and
hysterical
together
,
to
sound
like
a
man
who
sneers
at
the
vanity
of
all
human
beliefs
and
thereby
demands
an
instantaneous
belief
from
his
listeners
.
A
small
patch
of
moisture
glistened
on
the
back
of
his
neck
.
He
was
describing
in
over
colored
detail
her
month
of
convalescence
in
the
lonely
cabin
of
a
sheepherder
,
then
her
heroic
trudging
down
fifty
miles
of
mountain
trails
for
the
sake
of
resuming
her
duties
to
the
people
in
this
grave
hour
of
national
emergency
.
"
.
.
.
And
if
any
of
you
have
been
deceived
by
vicious
rumors
aimed
to
undermine
your
faith
in
the
great
social
program
of
our
leaders
—
you
may
trust
the
word
of
Miss
Taggart
,
who
—
"
She
stood
,
looking
up
at
the
white
beam
.
Specks
of
dust
were
whirling
in
the
beam
and
she
noticed
that
one
of
them
was
alive
:
it
was
a
gnat
with
a
tiny
sparkle
in
place
of
its
beating
wings
,
it
was
struggling
for
some
frantic
purpose
of
its
own
,
and
she
watched
it
,
feeling
as
distant
from
its
purpose
as
from
that
of
the
world
.
