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- Стр. 1480/1581
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From
across
the
street
,
Chick
Morrison
,
the
Morale
Conditioner
—
on
his
way
to
a
conference
on
the
fifty
-
ninth
floor
—
noted
that
the
rare
,
lethargic
passers
-
by
were
not
taking
the
trouble
to
glance
at
the
guards
,
as
they
did
not
take
the
trouble
to
glance
at
the
soggy
headlines
of
a
pile
of
unsold
newspapers
on
the
stand
of
a
ragged
,
shivering
vendor
:
"
John
Galt
Promises
Prosperity
.
"
Chick
Morrison
shook
his
head
uneasily
:
six
days
of
front
-
page
stories
—
about
the
united
efforts
of
the
country
’
s
leaders
working
with
John
Galt
to
shape
new
policies
—
had
brought
no
results
.
People
were
moving
,
he
observed
,
as
if
they
did
not
care
to
see
anything
around
them
.
No
one
took
any
notice
of
his
existence
,
except
a
ragged
old
woman
who
stretched
out
her
hand
to
him
silently
,
as
he
approached
the
lights
of
the
entrance
;
he
hurried
past
,
and
only
drops
of
sleet
fell
on
the
gnarled
,
naked
palm
.
It
was
his
memory
of
the
streets
that
gave
a
jagged
sound
to
Chick
Morrison
’
s
voice
,
when
he
spoke
to
a
circle
of
faces
in
Mr
.
Thompson
’
s
room
on
the
fifty
-
ninth
floor
.
The
look
of
the
faces
matched
the
sound
of
his
voice
.
"
It
doesn
’
t
seem
to
work
,
"
he
said
,
pointing
to
a
pile
of
reports
from
his
public
-
pulse
-
takers
.
"
All
the
press
releases
about
our
collaborating
with
John
Galt
don
’
t
seem
to
make
any
difference
.
People
don
’
t
care
.
They
don
’
t
believe
a
word
of
it
.
Some
of
them
say
that
he
’
ll
never
collaborate
with
us
.
Most
of
them
don
’
t
even
believe
that
we
’
ve
got
him
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
’
s
happened
to
people
.
They
don
’
t
believe
anything
any
more
.
"
He
sighed
.
"
Three
factories
went
out
of
business
in
Cleveland
,
day
before
yesterday
.
Five
factories
closed
in
Chicago
yesterday
.
In
San
Francisco
—
"
"
I
know
,
I
know
,
"
snapped
Mr
.
Thompson
,
tightening
the
muffler
around
his
throat
:
the
building
’
s
furnace
had
gone
out
of
order
.
"
There
’
s
no
choice
about
it
:
he
’
s
got
to
give
in
and
take
over
.
He
’
s
got
to
!
"
Wesley
Mouch
glanced
at
the
ceiling
.
"
Don
’
t
ask
me
to
talk
to
him
again
,
"
he
said
,
and
shuddered
.
"
I
’
ve
tried
.
One
can
’
t
talk
to
that
man
.
"
"
I
.
.
.
I
can
’
t
,
Mr
.
Thompson
!
"
cried
Chick
Morrison
,
in
answer
to
the
stop
of
Mr
.
Thompson
’
s
roving
glance
.
"
I
’
ll
resign
,
if
you
want
me
to
!
I
can
’
t
talk
to
him
again
!
Don
’
t
make
me
!
"
"
Nobody
can
talk
to
him
,
"
said
Dr
.
Floyd
Ferris
.
"
It
’
s
a
waste
of
time
.
He
doesn
’
t
hear
a
word
you
say
.
"
