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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 1389/1581
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From
the
first
catch
-
phrases
flung
at
a
child
to
the
last
,
it
is
like
a
series
of
shocks
to
freeze
his
motor
,
to
undercut
the
power
of
his
consciousness
.
"
Don
’
t
ask
so
many
questions
,
children
should
be
seen
and
not
heard
!
"
—
"
Who
are
you
to
think
?
It
’
s
so
,
because
I
say
so
!
"
—
"
Don
’
t
argue
,
obey
!
"
—
"
Don
’
t
try
to
understand
,
believe
!
"
—
"
Don
’
t
rebel
,
adjust
!
"
—
"
Don
’
t
stand
out
,
belong
!
"
—
"
Don
’
t
struggle
,
compromise
!
"
—
"
Your
heart
is
more
important
than
your
mind
!
"
—
"
Who
are
you
to
know
?
Your
parents
know
best
!
"
—
"
Who
are
you
to
know
?
Society
knows
best
!
"
—
"
Who
are
you
to
know
?
The
bureaucrats
know
best
!
"
—
"
Who
are
you
to
object
?
All
values
are
relative
!
"
—
"
Who
are
you
to
want
to
escape
a
thug
’
s
bullet
?
That
’
s
only
a
personal
prejudice
!
"
Men
would
shudder
,
he
thought
,
if
they
saw
a
mother
bird
plucking
the
feathers
from
the
wings
of
her
young
,
then
pushing
him
out
of
the
nest
to
struggle
for
survival
—
yet
that
was
what
they
did
to
their
children
.
Armed
with
nothing
but
meaningless
phrases
,
this
boy
had
been
thrown
to
fight
for
existence
,
he
had
hobbled
and
groped
through
a
brief
,
doomed
effort
,
he
had
screamed
his
indignant
,
bewildered
protest
—
and
had
perished
in
his
first
attempt
to
soar
on
his
mangled
wings
.
But
a
different
breed
of
teachers
had
once
existed
,
he
thought
,
and
had
reared
the
men
who
created
this
country
;
he
thought
that
mothers
should
set
out
on
their
knees
to
look
for
men
like
Hugh
Akston
,
to
find
them
and
beg
them
to
return
.
He
went
through
the
gate
of
the
mills
,
barely
noticing
the
guards
who
let
him
enter
,
who
stared
at
his
face
and
his
burden
;
he
did
not
pause
to
listen
to
their
words
,
as
they
pointed
to
the
fighting
in
the
distance
;
he
went
on
walking
slowly
toward
the
wedge
of
light
which
was
the
open
door
of
the
hospital
building
.
He
stepped
into
a
lighted
room
full
of
men
,
bloody
bandages
and
the
odor
of
antiseptics
;
he
deposited
his
burden
on
a
bench
,
with
no
word
of
explanation
to
anyone
,
and
walked
out
,
not
glancing
behind
him
.
He
walked
in
the
direction
of
the
front
gate
,
toward
the
glare
of
fire
and
the
bursts
of
guns
.
He
saw
,
once
in
a
while
,
a
few
figures
running
through
the
cracks
between
structures
or
darting
behind
black
corners
,
pursued
by
groups
of
guards
and
workers
;
he
was
astonished
to
notice
that
his
workers
were
well
armed
.
They
seemed
to
have
subdued
the
hoodlums
inside
the
mills
,
and
only
the
siege
at
the
front
gate
remained
to
be
beaten
.
He
saw
a
lout
scurrying
across
a
patch
of
lamplight
,
swinging
a
length
of
pipe
at
a
wall
of
glass
panes
,
battering
them
down
with
an
animal
relish
,
dancing
like
a
gorilla
to
the
sound
of
crashing
glass
,
until
three
husky
human
figures
descended
upon
him
,
carrying
him
writhing
to
the
ground
.
The
siege
of
the
gate
appeared
to
be
ebbing
,
as
if
the
spine
of
the
mob
had
been
broken
.
He
heard
the
distant
screeches
of
their
cries
—
but
the
shots
from
the
road
were
growing
rarer
,
the
fire
set
to
the
gatekeeper
’
s
office
was
put
out
,
there
were
armed
men
on
the
ledges
and
at
windows
,
posted
in
well
-
planned
defense
.
On
the
roof
of
a
structure
above
the
gate
,
he
saw
,
as
he
came
closer
,
the
slim
silhouette
of
a
man
who
held
a
gun
in
each
hand
and
,
from
behind
the
protection
of
a
chimney
,
kept
firing
at
intervals
down
into
the
mob
,
firing
swiftly
and
,
it
seemed
,
in
two
directions
at
once
,
like
a
sentinel
protecting
the
approaches
to
the
gate
.
The
confident
skill
of
his
movements
,
his
manner
of
firing
,
with
no
time
wasted
to
take
aim
,
but
with
the
kind
of
casual
abruptness
that
never
misses
a
target
,
made
him
look
like
a
hero
of
Western
legend
—
and
Rearden
watched
him
with
detached
,
impersonal
pleasure
,
as
if
the
battle
of
the
mills
were
not
his
any
longer
,
but
he
could
still
enjoy
the
sight
of
the
competence
and
certainty
with
which
men
of
that
distant
age
had
once
combatted
evil
.
