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- Айн Рэнд
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- Атлант расправил плечи
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- Стр. 388/1581
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She
smiled
,
her
eyes
closed
,
the
wind
streaming
through
her
hair
.
She
opened
her
eyes
and
saw
that
Rearden
stood
looking
down
at
her
.
It
was
the
same
glance
with
which
he
had
looked
at
the
rail
.
She
felt
her
power
of
volition
knocked
out
by
some
single
,
dull
blow
that
made
her
unable
to
move
.
She
held
his
eyes
,
lying
back
in
her
chair
,
the
wind
pressing
the
thin
cloth
of
her
shirt
to
her
body
.
He
looked
away
,
and
she
turned
again
to
the
sight
of
the
earth
tearing
open
before
them
.
She
did
not
want
to
think
,
but
the
sound
of
thought
went
on
,
like
the
drone
of
the
motors
under
the
sounds
of
the
engine
.
She
looked
at
the
cab
around
her
.
The
fine
steel
mesh
of
the
ceiling
,
she
thought
,
and
the
row
of
rivets
in
the
corner
,
holding
sheets
of
steel
sealed
together
—
who
made
them
?
The
brute
force
of
men
’
s
muscles
?
Who
made
it
possible
for
four
dials
and
three
levers
in
front
of
Pat
Logan
to
hold
the
incredible
power
of
the
sixteen
motors
behind
them
and
deliver
it
to
the
effortless
control
of
one
man
’
s
hand
?
These
things
and
the
capacity
from
which
they
came
—
was
this
the
pursuit
men
regarded
as
evil
?
Was
this
what
they
called
an
ignoble
concern
with
the
physical
world
?
Was
this
the
state
of
being
enslaved
by
matter
?
Was
this
the
surrender
of
man
’
s
spirit
to
his
body
?
She
shook
her
head
,
as
if
she
wished
she
could
toss
the
subject
out
of
the
window
and
let
it
get
shattered
somewhere
along
the
track
.
She
looked
at
the
sun
on
the
summer
fields
.
She
did
not
have
to
think
,
because
these
questions
were
only
details
of
a
truth
she
knew
and
had
always
known
.
Let
them
go
past
like
the
telegraph
poles
.
The
thing
she
knew
was
like
the
wires
flying
above
in
an
unbroken
line
.
The
words
for
it
,
and
for
this
journey
,
and
for
her
feeling
,
and
for
the
whole
of
man
’
s
earth
,
were
:
It
’
s
so
simple
and
so
right
!
She
looked
out
at
the
country
.
She
had
been
aware
for
some
time
of
the
human
figures
that
flashed
with
an
odd
regularity
at
the
side
of
the
track
.
But
they
went
by
so
fast
that
she
could
not
grasp
their
meaning
until
,
like
the
squares
of
a
movie
film
,
brief
flashes
blended
into
a
whole
and
she
understood
it
.
She
had
had
the
track
guarded
since
its
completion
,
but
she
had
not
hired
the
human
chain
she
saw
strung
out
along
the
right
-
of
-
way
.
A
solitary
figure
stood
at
every
mile
post
.
Some
were
young
schoolboys
,
others
were
so
old
that
the
silhouettes
of
their
bodies
looked
bent
against
the
sky
.
All
of
them
were
armed
,
with
anything
they
had
found
,
from
costly
rifles
to
ancient
muskets
.
All
of
them
wore
railroad
caps
.
They
were
the
sons
of
Taggart
employees
,
and
old
railroad
men
who
had
retired
after
a
full
lifetime
of
Taggart
service
.
They
had
come
,
unsummoned
,
to
guard
this
train
.
As
the
engine
went
past
him
,
every
man
in
his
turn
stood
erect
,
at
attention
,
and
raised
his
gun
in
a
military
salute
.
When
she
grasped
it
,
she
burst
out
laughing
,
suddenly
,
with
the
abruptness
of
a
cry
.
She
laughed
,
shaking
,
like
a
child
;
it
sounded
like
sobs
of
deliverance
.
Pat
Logan
nodded
to
her
with
a
faint
smile
;
he
had
noted
the
guard
of
honor
long
ago
.
She
leaned
to
the
open
window
,
and
her
arm
swept
in
wide
curves
of
triumph
,
waving
to
the
men
by
the
track
.
