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A
shell
of
concrete
,
which
had
been
a
schoolhouse
,
stood
on
the
outskirts
;
it
looked
like
a
skull
,
with
the
empty
sockets
of
glassless
windows
,
with
a
few
strands
of
hair
still
clinging
to
it
,
in
the
shape
of
broken
wires
.
Beyond
the
town
,
on
a
distant
hill
,
stood
the
factory
of
the
Twentieth
Century
Motor
Company
.
Its
walls
,
roof
lines
and
smokestacks
looked
trim
,
impregnable
like
a
fortress
.
It
would
have
seemed
intact
but
for
a
silver
water
tank
:
the
water
tank
was
tipped
sidewise
.
They
saw
no
trace
of
a
road
to
the
factory
in
the
tangled
miles
of
trees
and
hillsides
.
They
drove
to
the
door
of
the
first
house
in
sight
that
showed
a
feeble
signal
of
rising
smoke
.
The
door
was
open
.
An
old
woman
came
shuffling
out
at
the
sound
of
the
motor
.
She
was
bent
and
swollen
,
barefooted
,
dressed
in
a
garment
of
flour
sacking
.
She
looked
at
the
car
without
astonishment
,
without
curiosity
;
it
was
the
blank
stare
of
a
being
who
had
lost
the
capacity
to
feel
anything
but
exhaustion
.
Отключить рекламу
"
Can
you
tell
me
the
way
to
the
factory
?
"
asked
Rearden
.
The
woman
did
not
answer
at
once
;
she
looked
as
if
she
would
be
unable
to
speak
English
.
"
What
factory
?
"
she
asked
.
Rearden
pointed
.
"
That
one
.
"
"
It
s
closed
.
"
Отключить рекламу
"
I
know
it
s
closed
.
But
is
there
any
way
to
get
there
?
"
"
I
don
t
know
.
"
"
Is
there
any
sort
of
road
?
"