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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 1233/1581
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"
Shut
up
!
"
he
screamed
.
They
looked
at
each
other
,
both
in
terror
,
both
feeling
as
if
they
were
swaying
on
an
edge
which
she
could
not
and
he
would
not
name
,
both
knowing
that
one
more
step
would
be
fatal
.
"
What
do
you
think
you
’
re
saying
?
"
he
asked
in
a
tone
of
petty
anger
,
which
sounded
almost
benevolent
by
bringing
them
back
into
the
realm
of
the
normal
,
into
the
near
-
wholesomeness
of
nothing
worse
than
a
family
quarrel
.
"
What
sort
of
metaphysical
subject
are
you
trying
to
deal
with
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
.
.
"
she
said
wearily
,
dropping
her
head
,
as
if
some
shape
she
had
tried
to
capture
had
slipped
once
more
out
of
her
grasp
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
.
.
It
doesn
’
t
seem
possible
.
.
.
"
"
You
’
d
better
not
try
to
wade
in
way
over
your
head
or
—
"
But
he
had
to
stop
,
because
the
butler
entered
,
bringing
the
glittering
ice
bucket
with
the
champagne
ordered
for
celebration
.
They
remained
silent
,
letting
the
room
be
filled
by
the
sounds
which
centuries
of
men
and
of
struggle
had
established
as
the
symbol
of
joyous
attainment
:
the
blast
of
the
cork
,
the
laughing
tinkle
of
a
pale
gold
liquid
running
into
two
broad
cups
filled
with
the
weaving
reflections
of
candles
,
the
whisper
of
bubbles
rising
through
two
crystal
stems
,
almost
demanding
that
everything
in
sight
rise
,
too
,
in
the
same
aspiration
.
They
remained
silent
,
till
the
butler
had
gone
.
Taggart
sat
looking
down
at
the
bubbles
,
holding
the
stem
of
his
glass
between
two
limply
casual
fingers
.
Then
his
hand
closed
suddenly
about
the
stem
into
an
awkwardly
convulsed
fist
and
he
raised
it
,
not
as
one
lifts
a
glass
of
champagne
,
but
as
one
would
lift
a
butcher
knife
.
"
To
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
!
"
he
said
.
She
put
her
glass
down
.
"
No
,
"
she
answered
.
