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The
mills
had
been
nationalized
,
as
the
property
of
a
deserter
.
The
first
bearer
of
the
title
of
"
People
’
s
Manager
,
"
appointed
to
run
the
mills
,
had
been
a
man
of
the
Orren
Boyle
faction
,
a
pudgy
hanger
-
on
of
the
metallurgical
industry
,
who
had
wanted
nothing
but
to
follow
his
employees
while
going
through
the
motions
of
leading
.
But
at
the
end
of
a
month
,
after
too
many
clashes
with
the
workers
,
too
many
occasions
when
his
only
answer
had
been
that
he
couldn
’
t
help
it
,
too
many
undelivered
orders
,
too
many
telephonic
pressures
from
his
buddies
,
he
had
begged
to
be
transferred
to
some
other
position
.
The
Orren
Boyle
faction
had
been
falling
apart
,
since
Mr
.
Boyle
had
been
confined
to
a
rest
home
,
where
his
doctor
had
forbidden
him
any
contact
with
business
and
had
put
him
to
the
job
of
weaving
baskets
,
as
a
means
of
occupational
therapy
.
The
second
"
People
’
s
Manager
"
sent
to
Rearden
Steel
had
belonged
to
the
faction
of
Cuffy
Meigs
.
He
had
worn
leather
leggings
and
perfumed
hair
lotions
,
he
had
come
to
work
with
a
gun
on
his
hip
,
he
had
kept
snapping
that
discipline
was
his
primary
goal
and
that
by
God
he
’
d
get
it
or
else
.
The
only
discernible
rule
of
the
discipline
had
been
his
order
forbidding
all
questions
.
After
weeks
of
frantic
activity
on
the
part
of
insurance
companies
,
of
firemen
,
of
ambulances
and
of
first
-
aid
units
,
attending
to
a
series
of
inexplicable
accidents
—
the
"
People
’
s
Manager
"
had
vanished
one
morning
,
having
sold
and
shipped
to
sundry
racketeers
of
Europe
and
Latin
America
most
of
the
cranes
,
the
automatic
conveyors
,
the
supplies
of
refractory
brick
,
the
emergency
power
generator
,
and
the
carpet
from
what
had
once
been
Rearden
’
s
office
.
No
one
had
been
able
to
untangle
the
issues
in
the
violent
chaos
of
the
next
few
days
—
the
issues
had
never
been
named
,
the
sides
had
remained
unacknowledged
,
but
everyone
had
known
that
the
bloody
encounters
between
the
older
workers
and
the
newer
had
not
been
driven
to
such
ferocious
intensity
by
the
trivial
causes
that
kept
setting
them
off
—
neither
guards
nor
policemen
nor
state
troopers
had
been
able
to
keep
order
for
the
length
of
a
day
—
nor
could
any
faction
muster
a
candidate
willing
to
accept
the
post
of
"
People
’
s
Manager
.
"
On
January
22
,
the
operations
of
Rearden
Steel
had
been
ordered
temporarily
suspended
.
The
shaft
of
red
smoke
,
that
night
,
had
been
caused
by
a
sixty
-
year
old
worker
,
who
had
set
fire
to
one
of
the
structures
and
had
been
caught
in
the
act
,
laughing
dazedly
and
staring
at
the
flames
.
"
To
avenge
Hank
Rearden
!
"
he
had
cried
defiantly
,
tears
running
down
his
furnace
-
tanned
face
.
Don
’
t
let
it
hurt
you
like
this
—
thought
Dagny
,
slumped
across
her
desk
,
over
the
page
of
the
newspaper
where
a
single
brief
paragraph
announced
the
"
temporary
"
end
of
Rearden
Steel
—
don
’
t
let
it
hurt
you
so
much
.
.
.
She
kept
seeing
the
face
of
Hank
Rearden
,
as
he
had
stood
at
the
window
of
his
office
,
watching
a
crane
move
against
the
sky
with
a
load
of
green
-
blue
rail
.
.
.
Don
’
t
let
it
hurt
him
like
this
—
was
the
plea
in
her
mind
,
addressed
to
no
one
—
don
’
t
let
him
hear
of
it
,
don
’
t
let
him
know
.
.
.
Then
she
saw
another
face
,
a
face
with
unflinching
green
eyes
,
saying
to
her
,
in
a
voice
made
implacable
by
the
quality
of
respect
for
facts
:
"
You
’
ll
have
to
hear
about
it
.
You
’
ll
hear
about
every
wreck
.
You
’
ll
hear
about
every
discontinued
train
.
.
.
Nobody
stays
in
this
valley
by
faking
reality
in
any
manner
whatever
.
.
.
"
Then
she
sat
still
,
with
no
sight
and
no
sound
in
her
mind
,
with
nothing
but
that
enormous
presence
which
was
pain
—
until
she
heard
the
familiar
cry
that
had
become
a
drug
killing
all
sensations
except
the
capacity
to
act
:
"
Miss
Taggart
,
we
don
’
t
know
what
to
do
!
"
—
and
she
shot
to
her
feet
to
answer
.
"
The
People
’
s
State
of
Guatemala
,
"
said
the
newspapers
on
January
26
,
"
declines
the
request
of
the
United
States
for
the
loan
of
a
thousand
tons
of
steel
.
"
On
the
night
of
February
3
,
a
young
pilot
was
flying
his
usual
route
,
a
weekly
-
flight
from
Dallas
to
New
York
City
.
When
he
reached
the
empty
darkness
beyond
Philadelphia
—
in
the
place
where
the
flames
of
Rearden
Steel
had
for
years
been
his
favorite
landmark
,
his
greeting
in
the
loneliness
of
night
,
the
beacon
of
a
living
earth
—
he
saw
a
snow
-
covered
spread
,
dead
-
white
and
phosphorescent
in
the
starlight
,
a
spread
of
peaks
and
craters
that
looked
like
the
surface
of
the
moon
.
