-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 49/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
He
touched
the
bracelet
in
his
pocket
.
He
had
had
it
made
from
that
first
poured
metal
.
It
was
for
his
wife
.
As
he
touched
it
,
he
realized
suddenly
that
he
had
thought
of
an
abstraction
called
"
his
wife
"
—
not
of
the
woman
to
whom
he
was
married
.
He
felt
a
stab
of
regret
,
wishing
he
had
not
made
the
bracelet
,
then
a
wave
of
self
-
reproach
for
the
regret
.
He
shook
his
head
.
This
was
not
the
time
for
his
old
doubts
.
He
felt
that
he
could
forgive
anything
to
anyone
,
because
happiness
was
the
greatest
agent
of
purification
.
He
felt
certain
that
every
living
being
wished
him
well
tonight
.
He
wanted
to
meet
someone
,
to
face
the
first
stranger
,
to
stand
disarmed
and
open
,
and
to
say
,
"
Look
at
me
.
"
People
,
he
thought
,
were
as
hungry
for
a
sight
of
joy
as
he
had
always
been
—
for
a
moment
’
s
relief
from
that
gray
load
of
suffering
which
seemed
so
inexplicable
and
unnecessary
.
He
had
never
been
able
to
understand
why
men
should
be
unhappy
.
The
dark
road
had
risen
imperceptibly
to
the
top
of
a
hill
.
He
stopped
and
turned
.
The
red
glow
was
a
narrow
strip
,
far
to
the
west
.
Above
it
,
small
at
a
distance
of
miles
,
the
words
of
a
neon
sign
stood
written
on
the
blackness
of
the
sky
:
REARDEN
STEEL
.
He
stood
straight
,
as
if
before
a
bench
of
judgment
.
He
thought
that
in
the
darkness
of
this
night
other
signs
were
lighted
over
the
country
:
Rearden
Ore
—
Rearden
Coal
—
Rearden
Limestone
.
He
thought
of
the
days
behind
him
.
He
wished
it
were
possible
to
light
a
neon
sign
above
them
,
saying
:
Rearden
Life
.
He
turned
sharply
and
walked
on
.
As
the
road
came
closer
to
his
house
,
he
noticed
that
his
steps
were
slowing
down
and
that
something
was
ebbing
away
from
his
mood
.
He
felt
a
dim
reluctance
to
enter
his
home
,
which
he
did
not
want
to
feel
.
No
,
he
thought
,
not
tonight
;
they
’
ll
understand
it
,
tonight
.
But
he
did
not
know
,
he
had
never
defined
,
what
it
was
that
he
wanted
them
to
understand
.
He
saw
lights
in
the
windows
of
the
living
room
,
when
he
approached
his
house
.
The
house
stood
on
a
hill
,
rising
before
him
like
a
big
white
bulk
;
it
looked
naked
,
with
a
few
semi
-
colonial
pillars
for
reluctant
ornament
;
it
had
the
cheerless
look
of
a
nudity
not
worth
revealing
.
He
was
not
certain
whether
his
wife
noticed
him
when
he
entered
the
living
room
.
She
sat
by
the
fireplace
,
talking
,
the
curve
of
her
arm
floating
in
graceful
emphasis
of
her
words
.
He
heard
a
small
break
in
her
voice
,
and
thought
that
she
had
seen
him
,
but
she
did
not
look
up
and
her
sentence
went
on
smoothly
;
he
could
not
be
certain
.
"
—
but
it
’
s
just
that
a
man
of
culture
is
bored
with
the
alleged
wonders
of
purely
material
ingenuity
,
"
she
was
saying
.
"
He
simply
refuses
to
get
excited
about
plumbing
.
"
