-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 1358/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
lust
that
drives
others
to
enslave
an
empire
,
had
become
,
in
her
limits
,
a
passion
for
power
over
him
.
She
had
set
out
to
break
him
,
as
if
,
unable
to
equal
his
value
,
she
could
surpass
it
by
destroying
it
,
as
if
the
measure
of
his
greatness
would
thus
become
the
measure
of
hers
,
as
if
—
he
thought
with
a
shudder
—
as
if
the
vandal
who
smashed
a
statue
were
greater
than
the
artist
who
had
made
it
,
as
if
the
murderer
who
killed
a
child
were
greater
than
the
mother
who
had
given
it
birth
.
He
remembered
her
hammering
derision
of
his
work
,
his
mills
,
his
Metal
,
his
success
,
he
remembered
her
desire
to
see
him
drunk
,
just
once
,
her
attempts
to
push
him
into
infidelity
,
her
pleasure
at
the
thought
that
he
had
fallen
to
the
level
of
some
sordid
romance
,
her
terror
on
discovering
that
that
romance
had
been
an
attainment
,
not
a
degradation
.
Her
line
of
attack
,
which
he
had
found
so
baffling
,
had
been
constant
and
clear
—
it
was
his
self
-
esteem
she
had
sought
to
destroy
,
knowing
that
a
man
who
surrenders
his
value
is
at
the
mercy
of
anyone
’
s
will
;
it
was
his
moral
purity
she
had
struggled
to
breach
,
it
was
his
confident
rectitude
she
had
wanted
to
shatter
by
means
of
the
poison
of
guilt
—
as
if
,
were
he
to
collapse
,
his
depravity
would
give
her
a
right
to
hers
.
For
the
same
purpose
and
motive
,
for
the
same
satisfaction
,
as
others
weave
complex
systems
of
philosophy
to
destroy
generations
,
of
establish
dictatorships
to
destroy
a
country
,
so
she
,
possessing
no
weapons
except
femininity
,
had
made
it
her
goal
to
destroy
one
man
.
Yours
was
the
code
of
life
—
he
remembered
the
voice
of
his
lost
young
teacher
—
what
,
then
,
is
theirs
?
"
I
have
something
to
tell
you
!
"
cried
Lillian
,
with
the
sound
of
that
impotent
rage
which
wishes
that
words
were
brass
knuckles
.
"
You
’
re
so
proud
of
yourself
,
aren
’
t
you
?
You
’
re
so
proud
of
your
name
!
Rearden
Steel
,
Rearden
Metal
,
Rearden
Wife
!
That
’
s
what
I
was
,
wasn
’
t
I
?
Mrs
.
Rearden
!
Mrs
.
Henry
Rearden
!
"
The
sounds
she
was
making
were
now
a
string
of
cackling
gasps
,
an
unrecognizable
corruption
of
laughter
.
"
Well
,
I
think
you
’
d
like
to
know
that
your
wife
’
s
been
laid
by
another
man
!
I
’
ve
been
unfaithful
to
you
,
do
you
hear
me
?
I
’
ve
been
unfaithful
,
not
with
some
great
,
noble
lover
,
but
with
the
scummiest
louse
,
with
Jim
Taggart
!
Three
months
ago
!
Before
your
divorce
!
While
I
was
your
wife
!
While
I
was
still
your
wife
!
"
He
stood
listening
like
a
scientist
studying
a
subject
of
no
personal
relevance
whatever
.
There
,
he
thought
,
was
the
final
abortion
of
the
creed
of
collective
interdependence
,
the
creed
of
non
-
identity
,
nonproperty
,
non
-
fact
:
the
belief
that
the
moral
stature
of
one
is
at
the
mercy
of
the
action
of
another
.
"
I
’
ve
been
unfaithful
to
you
!
Don
’
t
you
hear
me
,
you
stainless
Puritan
?
I
’
ve
slept
with
Jim
Taggart
,
you
incorruptible
hero
!
Don
’
t
you
hear
me
?
.
.
.
Don
’
t
you
hear
me
?
.
.
.
Don
’
t
you
.
.
.
?
"
