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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 1446/1581
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She
was
calm
,
she
thought
,
it
was
only
time
that
had
suddenly
lost
its
continuity
and
had
broken
her
perception
into
separate
snatches
:
she
knew
the
moment
when
she
saw
the
number
—
then
the
moment
when
she
looked
at
a
list
on
a
board
in
the
moldy
half
-
light
of
a
doorway
and
saw
the
words
"
John
Galt
,
5th
,
rear
"
scrawled
in
pencil
by
some
illiterate
hand
—
then
the
moment
when
she
stopped
at
the
foot
of
a
stairway
,
glanced
up
at
the
vanishing
angles
of
the
railing
and
suddenly
leaned
against
the
wall
,
trembling
with
terror
,
preferring
not
to
know
—
then
the
moment
when
she
felt
the
movement
of
her
foot
coming
to
rest
on
the
first
of
the
steps
—
then
a
single
,
unbroken
progression
of
lightness
,
of
rising
without
effort
or
doubt
or
fear
,
of
feeling
the
twisting
installments
of
stairway
dropping
down
beneath
her
unhesitant
feet
,
as
if
the
momentum
of
her
irresistible
rise
were
coming
from
the
straightness
of
her
body
,
the
poise
of
her
shoulders
,
the
lift
of
her
head
and
the
solemnly
exultant
certainty
that
in
the
moment
of
ultimate
decision
,
it
was
not
disaster
she
expected
of
her
life
,
at
the
end
of
a
rising
stairway
she
had
needed
thirty
-
seven
years
to
climb
.
At
the
top
,
she
saw
a
narrow
hallway
,
its
walls
converging
to
an
unlighted
door
.
She
heard
the
floorboards
creaking
in
the
silence
,
under
her
steps
.
She
felt
the
pressure
of
her
finger
on
a
doorbell
and
heard
the
sound
of
ringing
in
the
unknown
space
beyond
.
She
waited
.
She
heard
the
brief
crack
of
a
board
,
but
it
came
from
the
floor
below
.
She
heard
the
sliding
wail
of
a
tugboat
somewhere
on
the
river
.
Then
she
knew
that
she
had
missed
some
span
of
time
,
because
her
next
awareness
was
not
like
a
moment
of
awakening
,
but
like
a
moment
of
birth
:
as
if
two
sounds
were
pulling
her
out
of
a
void
,
the
sound
of
a
step
behind
the
door
and
the
sound
of
a
lock
being
turned
—
but
she
was
not
present
until
the
moment
when
suddenly
there
was
no
door
before
her
and
the
figure
standing
on
the
threshold
was
John
Galt
,
standing
casually
in
his
own
doorway
,
dressed
in
slacks
and
shirt
,
the
angle
of
his
waistline
slanting
faintly
against
the
light
behind
him
.
She
knew
that
his
eyes
were
grasping
this
moment
,
then
sweeping
over
its
past
and
its
future
,
that
a
lightning
process
of
calculation
was
bringing
it
into
his
conscious
control
—
and
by
the
time
a
fold
of
his
shirt
moved
with
the
motion
of
his
breath
,
he
knew
the
sum
—
and
the
sum
was
a
smile
of
radiant
greeting
.
She
was
now
unable
to
move
.
He
seized
her
arm
,
he
jerked
her
inside
the
room
,
she
felt
the
clinging
pressure
of
his
mouth
,
she
felt
the
slenderness
of
his
body
through
the
suddenly
alien
stiffness
of
her
coat
.
She
saw
the
laughter
in
his
eyes
,
she
felt
the
touch
of
his
mouth
again
and
again
,
she
was
sagging
in
his
arms
,
she
was
breathing
in
gasps
,
as
if
she
had
not
breathed
for
five
flights
of
stairs
,
her
face
was
pressed
to
the
angle
between
his
neck
and
shoulder
,
to
hold
him
,
to
hold
him
with
her
arms
,
her
hands
and
the
skin
of
her
cheek
.
"
John
.
.
.
you
’
re
alive
.
.
.
"
was
all
she
could
say
.
He
nodded
,
as
if
he
knew
what
the
words
were
intended
to
explain
.
Then
he
picked
up
her
hat
that
had
fallen
to
the
floor
,
he
took
off
her
coat
and
put
it
aside
,
he
looked
at
her
slender
,
trembling
figure
,
a
sparkle
of
approval
in
his
eyes
,
his
hand
moving
over
the
tight
,
high
collared
,
dark
blue
sweater
that
gave
to
her
body
the
fragility
of
a
schoolgirl
and
the
tension
of
a
fighter
.
