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- Стр. 350/1581
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He
could
not
choke
it
off
.
He
sat
still
,
over
the
drawings
of
the
bridge
for
the
John
Galt
Line
,
and
heard
the
things
released
by
a
voice
that
was
part
-
sound
,
part
-
sight
:
They
decided
it
without
him
.
.
.
They
did
not
call
for
him
,
they
did
not
ask
,
they
did
not
let
him
speak
.
.
.
They
were
not
bound
even
by
the
duty
to
let
him
know
—
to
let
him
know
that
they
had
slashed
part
of
his
life
away
and
that
he
had
to
be
ready
to
walk
on
as
a
cripple
.
.
.
Of
all
those
concerned
,
whoever
they
were
,
for
whichever
reason
,
for
whatever
need
,
he
was
the
one
they
had
not
had
to
consider
.
The
sign
at
the
end
of
a
long
road
said
:
Rearden
Ore
.
It
hung
over
black
tiers
of
metal
.
.
.
and
over
years
and
nights
.
.
.
over
a
clock
ticking
drops
of
his
blood
away
.
.
.
the
blood
he
had
given
gladly
,
exultantly
in
payment
for
a
distant
day
and
a
sign
over
a
road
paid
for
with
his
effort
,
his
strength
,
his
mind
,
his
hope
.
Destroyed
at
the
whim
of
some
men
who
sat
and
voted
.
.
.
Who
knows
by
what
minds
?
.
.
.
Who
knows
whose
will
had
placed
them
in
power
?
—
what
motive
moved
them
?
—
what
was
their
knowledge
?
—
which
one
of
them
,
unaided
,
could
bring
a
chunk
of
ore
out
of
the
earth
?
.
.
.
Destroyed
at
the
whim
of
men
whom
he
had
never
seen
and
who
had
never
seen
those
tiers
of
metal
.
.
.
Destroyed
,
because
they
so
decided
.
By
what
right
?
He
shook
his
head
.
There
are
things
one
must
not
contemplate
,
he
thought
.
There
is
an
obscenity
of
evil
which
contaminates
the
observer
.
There
is
a
limit
to
what
it
is
proper
for
a
man
to
see
.
He
must
not
think
of
this
,
or
look
within
it
,
or
try
to
learn
the
nature
of
its
roots
.
Feeling
quiet
and
empty
,
he
told
himself
that
he
would
be
all
right
tomorrow
.
He
would
forgive
himself
the
weakness
of
this
night
,
it
was
like
the
tears
one
is
permitted
at
a
funeral
,
and
then
one
learns
how
to
live
with
an
open
wound
or
with
a
crippled
factory
.
He
got
up
and
walked
to
the
window
.
The
mills
seemed
deserted
and
still
;
he
saw
feeble
snatches
of
red
above
black
funnels
,
long
coils
of
steam
,
the
webbed
diagonals
of
cranes
and
bridges
.
He
felt
a
desolate
loneliness
,
of
a
kind
he
had
never
known
before
.
He
thought
that
Gwen
Ives
and
Mr
.
