-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 465/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
There
was
little
to
find
.
They
put
aside
the
papers
that
seemed
to
contain
laboratory
notes
,
but
none
referred
to
the
motor
,
and
there
were
no
pages
of
the
manuscript
among
them
.
The
popcorn
wrappers
and
the
whiskey
bottle
testified
to
the
kind
of
invading
hordes
that
had
rolled
through
the
room
,
like
waves
washing
the
remnants
of
destruction
away
to
unknown
bottoms
.
They
put
aside
a
few
bits
of
metal
that
could
have
belonged
to
the
motor
,
but
these
were
too
small
to
be
of
value
.
The
motor
looked
as
if
parts
of
it
had
been
ripped
off
,
perhaps
by
someone
who
thought
he
could
put
them
to
some
customary
use
.
What
had
remained
was
too
unfamiliar
to
interest
anybody
.
On
aching
knees
,
her
palms
spread
flat
upon
the
gritty
floor
,
she
felt
the
anger
trembling
within
her
,
the
hurting
,
helpless
anger
that
answers
the
sight
of
desecration
.
She
wondered
whether
someone
’
s
diapers
hung
on
a
clothesline
made
of
the
motor
’
s
missing
wires
—
whether
its
wheels
had
become
a
rope
pulley
over
a
communal
well
—
whether
its
cylinder
was
now
a
pot
containing
geraniums
on
the
window
sill
of
the
sweetheart
of
the
man
with
the
whiskey
bottle
.
There
was
a
remnant
of
light
on
the
hill
,
but
a
blue
haze
was
moving
in
upon
the
valleys
,
and
the
red
and
gold
of
the
leaves
was
spreading
to
the
sky
in
strips
of
sunset
.
It
was
dark
when
they
finished
.
She
rose
and
leaned
against
the
empty
frame
of
the
window
for
a
touch
of
cool
air
on
her
forehead
.
The
sky
was
dark
blue
.
"
It
could
have
set
the
whole
country
in
motion
and
on
fire
.
"
She
looked
down
at
the
motor
.
She
looked
out
at
the
country
.
She
moaned
suddenly
,
hit
by
a
single
long
shudder
,
and
dropped
her
head
on
her
arm
,
standing
pressed
to
the
frame
of
the
window
.
"
What
’
s
the
matter
?
"
he
asked
.
She
did
not
answer
.
He
looked
out
Far
below
,
in
the
valley
,
in
the
gathering
night
,
there
trembled
a
few
pale
smears
which
were
the
lights
of
tallow
candles
.
"
God
have
mercy
on
us
,
ma
’
am
!
"
said
the
clerk
of
the
Hall
of
Records
.
"
Nobody
knows
who
owns
that
factory
now
.
I
guess
nobody
will
ever
know
it
.
"