-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 349/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
As
she
looked
at
him
,
her
mouth
relaxed
a
little
.
The
victim
whom
she
could
not
protect
was
her
only
point
of
reassurance
in
a
world
dissolving
around
her
.
He
moved
his
hand
gently
across
her
forehead
;
it
was
an
unusual
break
of
formality
for
him
,
and
a
silent
acknowledgment
of
the
things
at
which
he
had
not
laughed
.
"
Go
home
,
Gwen
.
I
won
’
t
need
you
tonight
.
I
’
m
going
home
myself
in
just
a
little
while
.
No
,
I
don
’
t
want
you
to
wait
.
"
It
was
past
midnight
,
when
,
still
sitting
at
his
desk
,
bent
over
blueprints
of
the
bridge
for
the
John
Galt
Line
,
he
stopped
his
work
abruptly
,
because
emotion
reached
him
in
a
sudden
stab
,
not
to
be
escaped
any
longer
,
as
if
a
curtain
of
anesthesia
had
broken
,
He
slumped
down
,
halfway
,
still
holding
onto
some
shred
of
resistance
,
and
sat
,
his
chest
pressed
to
the
edge
of
the
desk
to
stop
him
,
his
head
hanging
down
,
as
if
the
only
achievement
still
possible
to
him
was
not
to
let
his
head
drop
down
on
the
desk
.
He
sat
that
way
for
a
few
moments
,
conscious
of
nothing
but
pain
,
a
screaming
pain
without
content
or
limit
—
he
sat
,
not
knowing
whether
it
was
in
his
mind
or
his
body
,
reduced
to
the
terrible
ugliness
of
pain
that
stopped
thought
.
In
a
few
moments
,
it
was
over
.
He
raised
his
head
and
sat
up
straight
,
quietly
,
leaning
back
against
his
chair
.
Now
he
saw
that
in
postponing
this
moment
for
hours
,
he
had
not
been
guilty
of
evasion
:
he
had
not
thought
of
it
,
because
there
was
nothing
to
think
.
Thought
—
he
told
himself
quietly
—
is
a
weapon
one
uses
in
order
to
act
.
No
action
was
possible
.
Thought
is
the
tool
by
which
one
makes
a
choice
.
No
choice
was
left
to
him
.
Thought
sets
one
’
s
purpose
and
the
way
to
reach
it
.
In
the
matter
of
his
life
being
torn
piece
by
piece
out
of
him
,
he
was
to
have
no
voice
,
no
purpose
,
no
way
,
no
defense
.
He
thought
of
this
in
astonishment
.
He
saw
for
the
first
time
that
he
had
never
known
fear
because
,
against
any
disaster
,
he
had
held
the
omnipotent
cure
of
being
able
to
act
.
No
,
he
thought
,
not
an
assurance
of
victory
—
who
can
ever
have
that
?
—
only
the
chance
to
act
,
which
is
all
one
needs
.
Now
he
was
contemplating
,
impersonally
and
for
the
first
time
,
the
real
heart
of
terror
:
being
delivered
to
destruction
with
one
’
s
hands
tied
behind
one
’
s
back
.
Well
,
then
,
go
on
with
your
hands
tied
,
he
thought
.
Go
on
in
chains
.
Go
on
.
It
must
not
stop
you
.
.
.
But
another
voice
was
telling
him
things
he
did
not
want
to
hear
,
while
he
fought
back
,
crying
through
and
against
it
:
There
’
s
no
point
in
thinking
of
that
.
.
.
there
’
s
no
use
.
.
.
what
for
?
.
.
.
leave
it
alone
!
