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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 46/1581
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A
passenger
,
who
was
a
professor
of
economics
,
remarked
to
his
companion
:
"
Of
what
importance
is
an
individual
in
the
titanic
collective
achievements
of
our
industrial
age
?
"
Another
,
who
was
a
journalist
,
made
a
note
for
future
use
in
his
column
:
"
Hank
Rearden
is
the
kind
of
man
who
sticks
his
name
on
everything
he
touches
.
You
may
,
from
this
,
form
your
own
opinion
about
the
character
of
Hank
Rearden
.
"
The
train
was
speeding
on
into
the
darkness
when
a
red
gasp
shot
to
the
sky
from
behind
a
long
structure
.
The
passengers
paid
no
attention
;
one
more
heat
of
steel
being
poured
was
not
an
event
they
had
been
taught
to
notice
.
It
was
the
first
heat
for
the
first
order
of
Rearden
Metal
.
To
the
men
at
the
tap
-
hole
of
the
furnace
inside
the
mills
,
the
first
break
of
the
liquid
metal
into
the
open
came
as
a
shocking
sensation
of
morning
.
The
narrow
streak
pouring
through
space
had
the
pure
white
color
of
sunlight
.
Black
coils
of
steam
were
boiling
upward
,
streaked
with
violent
red
.
Fountains
of
sparks
shot
in
beating
spasms
,
as
from
broken
arteries
.
The
air
seemed
torn
to
rags
,
reflecting
a
raging
flame
that
was
not
there
,
red
blotches
whirling
and
running
through
space
,
as
if
not
to
be
contained
within
a
man
-
made
structure
,
as
if
about
to
consume
the
columns
,
the
girders
,
the
bridges
of
cranes
overhead
.
But
the
liquid
metal
had
no
aspect
of
violence
.
It
was
a
long
white
curve
with
the
texture
of
satin
and
the
friendly
radiance
of
a
smile
.
It
flowed
obediently
through
a
spout
of
clay
,
with
two
brittle
borders
to
restrain
it
,
it
fell
through
twenty
feet
of
space
,
down
into
a
ladle
that
held
two
hundred
tons
.
A
flow
of
stars
hung
above
the
stream
,
leaping
out
of
its
placid
smoothness
,
looking
delicate
as
lace
and
innocent
as
children
’
s
sparklers
.
Only
at
a
closer
glance
could
one
notice
that
the
white
satin
was
boiling
.
Splashes
flew
out
at
times
and
fell
to
the
ground
below
:
they
were
metal
and
,
cooling
while
hitting
the
soil
,
they
burst
into
flame
.
Two
hundred
tons
of
a
metal
which
was
to
be
harder
than
steel
,
running
liquid
at
a
temperature
of
four
thousand
degrees
,
had
the
power
to
annihilate
every
wall
of
the
structure
and
every
one
of
the
men
who
worked
by
the
stream
.
But
every
inch
of
its
course
,
every
pound
of
its
pressure
and
the
content
of
every
molecule
within
it
,
were
controlled
and
made
by
a
conscious
intention
that
had
worked
upon
it
for
ten
years
.
Swinging
through
the
darkness
of
the
shed
,
the
red
glare
kept
slashing
the
face
of
a
man
who
stood
in
a
distant
corner
;
he
stood
leaning
against
a
column
,
watching
.
The
glare
cut
a
moment
’
s
wedge
across
his
eyes
,
which
had
the
color
and
quality
of
pale
blue
ice
—
then
across
the
black
web
of
the
metal
column
and
the
ash
-
blond
strands
of
his
hair
—
then
across
the
belt
of
his
trenchcoat
and
the
pockets
where
he
held
his
hands
.
His
body
was
tall
and
gaunt
;
he
had
always
been
too
tall
for
those
around
him
.
His
face
was
cut
by
prominent
cheekbones
and
by
a
few
sharp
lines
;
they
were
not
the
lines
of
age
,
he
had
always
had
them
:
this
had
made
him
look
old
at
twenty
,
and
young
now
,
at
forty
-
five
.
Ever
since
he
could
remember
,
he
had
been
told
that
his
face
was
ugly
,
because
it
was
unyielding
,
and
cruel
,
because
it
was
expressionless
.
It
remained
expressionless
now
,
as
he
looked
at
the
metal
.
He
was
Hank
Rearden
.
The
metal
came
rising
to
the
top
of
the
ladle
and
went
running
over
with
arrogant
prodigality
.
Then
the
blinding
white
trickles
turned
to
glowing
brown
,
and
in
one
more
instant
they
were
black
icicles
of
metal
,
starting
to
crumble
off
.
The
slag
was
crusting
in
thick
,
brown
ridges
that
looked
like
the
crust
of
the
earth
.
As
the
crust
grew
thicker
,
a
few
craters
broke
open
,
with
the
white
liquid
still
boiling
within
.
A
man
came
riding
through
the
air
,
in
the
cab
of
a
crane
overhead
.
He
pulled
a
lever
by
the
casual
movement
of
one
hand
:
steel
hooks
came
down
on
a
chain
,
seized
the
handles
of
the
ladle
,
lifted
it
smoothly
like
a
bucket
of
milk
—
and
two
hundred
tons
of
metal
went
sailing
through
space
toward
a
row
of
molds
waiting
to
be
filled
.
