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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 1345/1581
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It
seemed
to
him
that
there
was
a
touch
of
tension
in
the
air
of
the
mills
,
that
day
.
It
was
a
touch
too
slight
to
define
—
but
the
mills
,
to
him
,
were
like
the
face
of
a
loved
wife
where
he
could
catch
shades
of
feeling
almost
ahead
of
expression
.
He
noticed
small
clusters
of
the
new
workers
,
just
three
or
four
of
them
huddling
together
in
conversation
—
once
or
twice
too
often
.
He
noticed
their
manner
,
a
manner
suggesting
a
poolroom
corner
,
not
a
factory
.
He
noticed
a
few
glances
thrown
at
him
as
he
went
by
,
glances
a
shade
too
pointed
and
lingering
.
He
dismissed
it
;
it
was
not
quite
enough
to
wonder
about
—
and
he
had
no
time
to
wonder
.
When
he
drove
up
to
his
former
home
,
that
afternoon
,
he
stopped
his
car
abruptly
at
the
foot
of
the
hill
.
He
had
not
seen
the
house
since
that
May
15
,
six
months
ago
,
when
he
had
walked
out
of
it
—
and
the
sight
brought
back
to
him
the
sum
of
all
he
had
felt
in
ten
years
of
daily
home
-
coming
:
the
strain
,
the
bewilderment
,
the
gray
weight
of
unconfessed
unhappiness
,
the
stern
endurance
that
forbade
him
to
confess
it
,
the
desperate
innocence
of
the
effort
to
understand
his
family
.
.
.
the
effort
to
be
just
.
He
walked
slowly
up
the
path
toward
the
door
.
He
felt
no
emotion
,
only
the
sense
of
a
great
,
solemn
clarity
.
He
knew
that
this
house
was
a
monument
of
guilt
—
of
his
guilt
toward
himself
.
He
had
expected
to
see
his
mother
and
Philip
;
he
had
not
expected
the
third
person
who
rose
,
as
they
did
,
at
his
entrance
into
the
living
room
:
it
was
Lillian
.
He
stopped
on
the
threshold
.
They
stood
looking
at
his
face
and
at
the
open
door
behind
him
.
Their
faces
had
a
look
of
fear
and
cunning
,
the
look
of
that
blackmail
-
through
-
virtue
which
he
had
learned
to
understand
,
as
if
they
hoped
to
get
away
with
it
by
means
of
nothing
but
his
pity
,
to
hold
him
trapped
,
when
a
single
step
back
could
take
him
out
of
their
reach
.
They
had
counted
on
his
pity
and
dreaded
his
anger
;
they
had
not
dared
consider
the
third
alternative
;
his
indifference
.
"
What
is
she
doing
here
?
"
he
asked
,
turning
to
his
mother
,
his
voice
dispassionately
flat
.
"
Lillian
’
s
been
living
here
ever
since
your
divorce
,
"
she
answered
defensively
.
"
I
couldn
’
t
let
her
starve
on
the
city
pavements
,
could
I
?
"
