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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 386/1581
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"
Open
her
up
,
Pat
!
"
he
called
.
In
the
moment
when
the
engine
started
forward
,
he
cut
the
white
ribbon
and
leaped
out
of
the
way
.
From
the
side
track
,
he
saw
the
window
of
the
cab
go
by
and
Dagny
waving
to
him
in
an
answering
salute
.
Then
the
engine
was
gone
,
and
he
stood
looking
across
at
the
crowded
platform
that
kept
appearing
and
vanishing
as
the
freight
cars
clicked
past
him
.
The
green
-
blue
rails
ran
to
meet
them
,
like
two
jets
shot
out
of
a
single
point
beyond
the
curve
of
the
earth
.
The
crossties
melted
,
as
they
approached
,
into
a
smooth
stream
rolling
down
under
the
wheels
.
A
blurred
streak
clung
to
the
side
of
the
engine
,
low
over
the
ground
.
Trees
and
telegraph
poles
sprang
into
sight
abruptly
and
went
by
as
if
jerked
back
.
The
green
plains
stretched
past
,
in
a
leisurely
flow
.
At
the
edge
of
the
sky
,
a
long
wave
of
mountains
reversed
the
movement
and
seemed
to
follow
the
train
.
She
felt
no
wheels
under
the
floor
.
The
motion
was
a
smooth
flight
on
a
sustained
impulse
,
as
if
the
engine
hung
above
the
rails
,
riding
a
current
.
She
felt
no
speed
.
It
seemed
strange
that
the
green
lights
of
the
signals
kept
coming
at
them
and
past
,
every
few
seconds
.
She
knew
that
the
signal
lights
were
spaced
two
miles
apart
.
The
needle
on
the
speedometer
in
front
of
Pat
Logan
stood
at
one
hundred
.
She
sat
in
the
fireman
’
s
chair
and
glanced
across
at
Logan
once
in
a
while
.
He
sat
slumped
forward
a
little
,
relaxed
,
one
hand
resting
lightly
on
the
throttle
as
if
by
chance
;
but
his
eyes
were
fixed
on
the
track
ahead
.
He
had
the
ease
of
an
expert
,
so
confident
that
it
seemed
casual
,
but
it
was
the
ease
of
a
tremendous
concentration
,
the
concentration
on
one
’
s
task
that
has
the
ruthlessness
of
an
absolute
.
Ray
McKim
sat
on
a
bench
behind
them
.
Rearden
stood
in
the
middle
of
the
cab
.
He
stood
,
hands
in
pockets
,
feet
apart
,
braced
against
the
motion
,
looking
ahead
.
There
was
nothing
he
could
now
care
to
see
by
the
side
of
the
track
:
he
was
looking
at
the
rail
.
Ownership
—
she
thought
,
glancing
back
at
him
—
weren
’
t
there
those
who
knew
nothing
of
its
nature
and
doubted
its
reality
?
No
,
it
was
not
made
of
papers
,
seals
,
grants
and
permissions
.
There
it
was
—
in
his
eyes
.
The
sound
filling
the
cab
seemed
part
of
the
space
they
were
crossing
.
It
held
the
low
drone
of
the
motors
—
the
sharper
clicking
of
the
many
parts
that
rang
in
varied
cries
of
metal
—
and
the
high
,
thin
chimes
of
trembling
glass
panes
.
