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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 1302/1581
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It
was
as
if
a
sum
of
years
hit
Rearden
in
the
face
,
by
means
of
a
sensation
and
a
sight
:
the
exact
sensation
of
what
he
had
felt
in
the
cab
of
the
first
train
’
s
engine
on
the
John
Galt
Line
—
and
the
sight
of
Philip
’
s
eyes
,
the
pale
,
half
-
liquid
eyes
presenting
the
uttermost
of
human
degradation
:
an
uncontested
pain
,
and
,
with
the
obscene
insolence
of
a
skeleton
toward
a
living
being
,
demanding
that
this
pain
be
held
as
the
highest
of
values
.
You
’
ve
never
suffered
,
the
eyes
were
saying
to
him
accusingly
—
while
he
was
seeing
the
night
in
his
office
when
his
ore
mines
were
taken
away
from
him
—
the
moment
when
he
had
signed
the
Gift
Certificate
surrendering
Rearden
Metal
—
the
month
of
days
inside
a
plane
that
searched
for
the
remains
of
Dagny
’
s
body
.
You
’
ve
never
suffered
,
the
eyes
were
saying
with
self
-
righteous
scorn
—
while
he
remembered
the
sensation
of
proud
chastity
with
which
he
had
fought
through
those
moments
,
refusing
to
surrender
to
pain
,
a
sensation
made
of
his
love
,
of
his
loyalty
,
of
his
knowledge
that
joy
is
the
goal
of
existence
,
and
joy
is
not
to
be
stumbled
upon
,
but
to
be
achieved
,
and
the
act
of
treason
is
to
let
its
vision
drown
in
the
swamp
of
the
moment
’
s
torture
.
You
’
ve
never
suffered
,
the
dead
stare
of
the
eyes
was
saying
,
you
’
ve
never
felt
anything
,
because
only
to
suffer
is
to
feel
—
there
’
s
no
such
thing
as
joy
,
there
’
s
only
pain
and
the
absence
of
pain
,
only
pain
and
the
zero
,
when
one
feels
nothing
—
I
suffer
,
I
’
m
twisted
by
suffering
,
I
’
m
made
of
undiluted
suffering
,
that
’
s
my
purity
,
that
’
s
my
virtue
—
and
yours
,
you
the
untwisted
one
,
you
the
uncomplaining
,
yours
is
to
relieve
me
of
my
pain
—
cut
your
unsuffering
body
to
patch
up
mine
,
cut
your
unfeeling
soul
to
stop
mine
from
feeling
—
and
we
’
ll
achieve
the
ultimate
ideal
,
the
triumph
over
life
,
the
zero
!
He
was
seeing
the
nature
of
those
who
,
for
centuries
,
had
not
recoiled
from
the
preachers
of
annihilation
—
he
was
seeing
the
nature
of
the
enemies
he
had
been
fighting
all
his
life
.
"
Philip
,
"
he
said
,
"
get
out
of
here
.
"
His
voice
was
like
a
ray
of
sunlight
in
a
morgue
,
it
was
the
plain
,
dry
,
daily
voice
of
a
businessman
,
the
sound
of
health
,
addressed
to
an
enemy
one
could
not
honor
by
anger
,
nor
even
by
horror
.
"
And
don
’
t
ever
try
to
enter
these
mills
again
,
because
there
will
be
orders
at
every
gate
to
throw
you
out
,
if
you
try
it
.
"
"
Well
,
after
all
,
"
said
Philip
,
in
the
angry
and
cautious
tone
of
a
tentative
threat
,
"
I
could
have
my
friends
assign
me
to
a
job
here
and
compel
you
to
accept
it
!
"
Rearden
had
started
to
go
,
but
he
stopped
and
turned
to
look
at
his
brother
.
Philip
’
s
moment
of
grasping
a
sudden
revelation
was
not
accomplished
by
means
of
thought
,
but
by
means
of
that
dark
sensation
which
was
his
only
mode
of
consciousness
:
he
felt
a
sensation
of
terror
,
squeezing
his
throat
,
shivering
down
into
his
stomach
—
he
was
seeing
the
spread
of
the
mills
,
with
the
roving
streamers
of
flame
,
with
the
ladles
of
molten
metal
sailing
through
space
on
delicate
cables
,
with
open
pits
the
color
of
glowing
coal
,
with
cranes
coming
at
his
head
,
pounding
past
,
holding
tons
of
steel
by
the
invisible
power
of
magnets
—
and
he
knew
that
he
was
afraid
of
this
place
,
afraid
to
the
death
,
that
he
dared
not
move
without
the
protection
and
guidance
of
the
man
before
him
—
then
he
looked
at
the
tall
,
straight
figure
standing
casually
still
,
the
figure
with
the
unflinching
eyes
whose
sight
had
cut
through
rock
and
flame
to
build
this
place
—
and
then
he
knew
how
easily
the
man
he
was
proposing
to
compel
could
let
a
single
bucket
of
metal
tilt
over
a
second
ahead
of
its
time
or
let
a
single
crane
drop
its
load
a
foot
short
of
its
goal
,
and
there
would
be
nothing
left
of
him
,
of
Philip
the
claimant
—
and
his
only
protection
lay
in
the
fact
that
his
mind
would
think
of
such
actions
,
but
the
mind
of
Hank
Rearden
would
not
.
"
But
we
’
d
better
keep
it
on
a
friendly
basis
,
"
said
Philip
.
"
You
’
d
better
,
"
said
Rearden
and
walked
away
.
Men
who
worship
pain
—
thought
Rearden
,
staring
at
the
image
of
the
enemies
he
had
never
been
able
to
understand
—
they
’
re
men
who
worship
pain
.
It
seemed
monstrous
,
yet
peculiarly
devoid
of
importance
.
