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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 1267/1581
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These
were
not
words
in
her
mind
,
these
were
the
words
which
would
have
named
,
had
she
had
the
power
to
find
them
,
what
she
knew
only
as
a
sudden
fury
that
made
her
beat
her
fists
in
futile
horror
against
the
iron
post
of
the
traffic
light
beside
her
,
against
the
hollow
tube
where
the
hoarse
,
rusty
chuckle
of
a
relentless
mechanism
went
grating
on
and
on
.
She
could
not
smash
it
with
her
fists
,
she
could
not
batter
one
by
one
all
the
posts
of
the
street
stretching
off
beyond
eyesight
—
as
she
could
not
smash
that
creed
from
the
souls
of
the
men
she
would
encounter
,
one
by
one
.
She
could
not
deal
with
people
any
longer
,
she
could
not
take
the
paths
they
took
—
but
what
could
she
say
to
them
,
she
who
had
no
words
to
name
the
thing
she
knew
and
no
voice
that
people
would
hear
?
What
could
she
tell
them
?
How
could
she
reach
them
all
?
Where
were
the
men
who
could
have
spoken
?
These
were
not
words
in
her
mind
,
these
were
only
the
blows
of
her
fists
against
metal
—
then
she
saw
herself
suddenly
,
battering
her
knuckles
to
blood
against
an
immovable
post
,
and
the
sight
made
her
shudder
—
and
she
stumbled
away
.
She
went
on
,
seeing
nothing
around
her
,
feeling
trapped
in
a
maze
with
no
exit
.
No
exit
—
her
shreds
of
awareness
were
saying
,
beating
it
into
the
pavements
in
the
sound
of
her
steps
—
no
exit
.
.
.
no
refuge
.
.
.
no
signals
.
.
.
no
way
to
tell
destruction
from
safety
,
or
enemy
from
friend
.
.
.
Like
that
dog
she
had
heard
about
,
she
thought
.
.
.
somebody
’
s
dog
in
somebody
’
s
laboratory
.
.
.
the
dog
who
got
his
signals
switched
on
him
,
and
saw
no
way
to
tell
satisfaction
from
torture
,
saw
food
changed
to
beatings
and
beatings
to
food
,
saw
his
eyes
and
ears
deceiving
him
and
his
judgment
futile
and
his
consciousness
impotent
in
a
shifting
,
swimming
,
shapeless
world
—
and
gave
up
,
refusing
to
eat
at
that
price
or
to
live
in
a
world
of
that
kind
.
.
.
No
!
—
was
the
only
conscious
word
in
her
brain
—
no
!
—
no
!
—
no
!
—
not
your
way
,
not
your
world
—
even
if
this
"
no
"
is
all
that
’
s
to
be
left
of
mine
!
It
was
in
the
darkest
hour
of
the
night
,
in
an
alley
among
wharfs
and
warehouses
that
the
social
worker
saw
her
.
The
social
worker
was
a
woman
whose
gray
face
and
gray
coat
blended
with
the
walls
of
the
district
.
She
saw
a
young
girl
wearing
a
suit
too
smart
and
expensive
for
the
neighborhood
,
with
no
hat
,
no
purse
,
with
a
broken
heel
,
disheveled
hair
and
a
bruise
at
the
corner
of
her
mouth
,
a
girl
staggering
blindly
,
not
knowing
sidewalks
from
pavements
.
The
street
was
only
a
narrow
crack
between
the
sheer
,
blank
walls
of
storage
structures
,
but
a
ray
of
light
fell
through
a
fog
dank
with
the
odor
of
rotting
water
;
a
stone
parapet
ended
the
street
on
the
edge
of
a
vast
black
hole
merging
river
and
sky
.
The
social
worker
approached
her
and
asked
severely
,
"
Are
you
in
trouble
?
"
—
and
saw
one
wary
eye
,
the
other
hidden
by
a
lock
of
hair
,
and
the
face
of
a
wild
creature
who
has
forgotten
the
sound
of
human
voices
,
but
listens
as
to
a
distant
echo
,
with
suspicion
,
yet
almost
with
hope
.
The
social
worker
seized
her
arm
.
"
It
’
s
a
disgrace
to
come
to
such
a
state
.
.
.
if
you
society
girls
had
something
to
do
besides
indulging
your
desires
and
chasing
pleasures
,
you
wouldn
’
t
be
wandering
,
drunk
as
a
tramp
,
at
this
hour
of
the
night
.
.
