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- Стр. 311/1581
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"
It
’
s
a
lie
!
I
didn
’
t
run
away
!
"
cried
James
Taggart
.
"
I
came
here
because
I
happened
to
be
sick
.
Ask
Dr
.
Wilson
.
It
’
s
a
form
of
flu
.
He
’
ll
prove
it
.
And
how
did
you
know
that
I
was
here
?
"
Dagny
stood
in
the
middle
of
the
room
;
there
were
melting
snowflakes
on
her
coat
collar
,
on
the
brim
of
her
hat
.
She
glanced
around
,
feeling
an
emotion
that
would
have
been
sadness
,
had
she
had
time
to
acknowledge
it
.
It
was
a
room
in
the
house
of
the
old
Taggart
estate
on
the
Hudson
.
Jim
had
inherited
the
place
,
but
he
seldom
came
here
.
In
their
childhood
,
this
had
been
their
father
’
s
study
.
Now
it
had
the
desolate
air
of
a
room
which
is
used
,
yet
uninhabited
.
There
were
slipcovers
on
all
but
two
chairs
,
a
cold
fireplace
and
the
dismal
warmth
of
an
electric
heater
with
a
cord
twisting
across
the
floor
,
a
desk
,
its
glass
surface
empty
.
Jim
lay
on
the
couch
,
with
a
towel
wrapped
for
a
scarf
around
his
neck
.
She
saw
a
stale
,
filled
ashtray
on
a
chair
beside
him
,
a
bottle
of
whisky
,
a
wilted
paper
cup
,
and
two
-
day
-
old
newspapers
scattered
about
the
floor
.
A
portrait
of
their
grandfather
hung
over
the
fireplace
,
full
figure
,
with
a
railroad
bridge
in
the
fading
background
.
"
I
have
no
time
for
arguments
,
Jim
.
"
"
It
was
your
idea
!
I
hope
you
’
ll
admit
to
the
Board
that
it
was
your
idea
.
That
’
s
what
your
goddamn
Rearden
Metal
has
done
to
us
!
If
we
had
waited
for
Orren
Boyle
.
.
.
"
His
unshaved
face
was
pulled
by
a
twisted
scramble
of
emotions
:
panic
,
hatred
,
a
touch
of
triumph
,
the
relief
of
screaming
at
a
victim
—
and
the
faint
,
cautious
,
begging
look
that
sees
a
hope
of
help
.
He
had
stopped
tentatively
,
but
she
did
not
answer
.
She
stood
watching
him
,
her
hands
in
the
pockets
of
her
coat
.
"
There
’
s
nothing
we
can
do
now
!
"
he
moaned
.
"
I
tried
to
call
Washington
,
to
get
them
to
seize
the
Phoenix
-
Durango
and
turn
it
over
to
us
,
on
the
ground
of
emergency
,
but
they
won
’
t
even
discuss
it
!
Too
many
people
objecting
,
they
say
,
afraid
of
some
fool
precedent
or
another
!
.
.
.
