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- Стр. 1398/1581
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It
was
strange
,
she
thought
,
to
obtain
news
by
means
of
nothing
but
denials
,
as
if
existence
had
ceased
,
facts
had
vanished
and
only
the
frantic
negatives
uttered
by
officials
and
columnists
gave
any
clue
to
the
reality
they
were
denying
.
"
It
is
not
true
that
the
Miller
Steel
Foundry
of
New
Jersey
has
gone
out
of
business
.
"
"
It
is
not
true
that
the
Jansen
Motor
Company
of
Michigan
has
closed
its
doors
.
"
"
It
is
a
vicious
,
anti
-
social
lie
that
manufacturers
of
steel
products
are
collapsing
under
the
threat
of
a
steel
shortage
.
There
is
no
reason
to
expect
a
steel
shortage
.
"
"
It
is
a
slanderous
,
unfounded
rumor
that
a
Steel
Unification
Plan
had
been
in
the
making
and
that
it
had
been
favored
by
Mr
.
Orren
Boyle
.
Mr
.
Boyle
’
s
attorney
has
issued
an
emphatic
denial
and
has
assured
the
press
that
Mr
.
Boyle
is
now
vehemently
opposed
to
any
such
plan
.
Mr
.
Boyle
,
at
the
moment
,
is
suffering
from
a
nervous
breakdown
.
"
But
some
news
could
be
witnessed
in
the
streets
of
New
York
,
in
the
cold
,
dank
twilight
of
autumn
evenings
:
a
crowd
gathered
in
front
of
a
hardware
store
,
where
the
owner
had
thrown
the
doors
open
,
inviting
people
to
help
themselves
to
the
last
of
his
meager
stock
,
while
he
laughed
in
shrieking
sobs
and
went
smashing
his
plate
-
glass
windows
—
a
crowd
gathered
at
the
door
of
a
run
-
down
apartment
house
,
where
a
police
ambulance
stood
waiting
,
while
the
bodies
of
a
man
,
his
wife
and
their
three
children
were
being
removed
from
a
gas
-
filled
room
;
the
man
had
been
a
small
manufacturer
of
steel
castings
.
If
they
see
Hank
Rearden
’
s
value
now
—
she
thought
—
why
didn
’
t
they
see
it
sooner
?
Why
hadn
’
t
they
averted
their
own
doom
and
spared
him
his
years
of
thankless
torture
?
She
found
no
answer
.
In
the
silence
of
sleepless
nights
,
she
thought
that
Hank
Rearden
and
she
had
now
changed
places
:
he
was
in
Atlantis
and
she
was
locked
out
by
a
screen
of
light
—
he
was
,
perhaps
,
calling
to
her
as
she
had
called
to
his
struggling
airplane
,
but
no
signal
could
reach
her
through
that
screen
.
Yet
the
screen
split
open
for
one
brief
break
—
for
the
length
of
a
letter
she
received
a
week
after
he
vanished
.
The
envelope
bore
no
return
address
,
only
the
postmark
of
some
hamlet
in
Colorado
.
The
letter
contained
two
sentences
:
I
have
met
him
.
I
don
’
t
blame
you
.
H
.
R
.
She
sat
still
for
a
long
time
,
looking
at
the
letter
,
as
if
unable
to
move
or
to
feel
.
She
felt
nothing
,
she
thought
,
then
noticed
that
her
shoulders
were
trembling
in
a
faint
,
continuous
shudder
,
then
grasped
that
the
tearing
violence
within
her
was
made
of
an
exultant
tribute
,
of
gratitude
and
of
despair
—
her
tribute
to
the
victory
that
the
meeting
of
these
two
men
implied
,
the
final
victory
of
both
—
her
gratitude
that
those
in
Atlantis
still
regarded
her
as
one
of
them
and
had
granted
her
the
exception
of
receiving
a
message
—
the
despair
of
the
knowledge
that
her
blankness
was
a
struggle
not
to
hear
the
questions
she
was
now
hearing
.
Had
Galt
abandoned
her
?
Had
he
gone
to
the
valley
to
meet
his
greatest
conquest
?
Would
he
come
back
?
Had
he
given
her
up
?
The
unendurable
was
not
that
these
questions
had
no
answer
,
but
that
the
answer
was
so
simply
,
so
easily
within
her
reach
and
that
she
had
no
right
to
take
a
step
to
reach
it
.
