-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 579/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
She
turned
to
him
,
her
smile
startled
and
helpless
.
"
I
.
.
.
I
didn
’
t
know
it
would
look
like
that
.
"
"
I
did
.
"
She
sat
beside
him
in
his
car
as
he
drove
through
the
dark
streets
of
the
city
.
A
sparkling
net
of
snow
flashed
into
sight
once
in
a
while
,
when
they
went
past
the
lights
on
the
corners
.
She
did
not
ask
where
they
were
going
.
She
sat
low
in
the
seat
,
leaning
back
,
looking
up
at
the
snowflakes
.
The
fur
cape
was
wrapped
tightly
about
her
;
within
it
,
her
dress
felt
as
light
as
a
nightgown
and
the
feel
of
the
cape
was
like
an
embrace
.
She
looked
at
the
angular
tiers
of
lights
rising
through
the
snowy
curtain
,
and
—
glancing
at
him
,
at
the
grip
of
his
gloved
hands
on
the
wheel
,
at
the
austere
,
fastidious
elegance
of
the
figure
in
black
overcoat
and
white
muffler
—
she
thought
that
he
belonged
in
a
great
city
,
among
polished
sidewalks
and
sculptured
stone
.
The
car
went
down
into
a
tunnel
,
streaked
through
an
echoing
tube
of
tile
under
the
river
and
rose
to
the
coils
of
an
elevated
highway
under
an
open
black
sky
.
The
lights
were
below
them
now
,
spread
in
flat
miles
of
bluish
windows
,
of
smokestacks
,
slanting
cranes
,
red
gusts
of
fire
,
and
long
,
dim
rays
silhouetting
the
contorted
shapes
of
an
industrial
district
.
She
thought
that
she
had
seen
him
once
,
at
his
mills
,
with
smudges
of
soot
on
his
forehead
,
dressed
in
acid
-
eaten
overalls
;
he
had
worn
them
as
naturally
well
as
he
wore
his
formal
clothes
.
He
belonged
here
,
too
—
she
thought
,
looking
down
at
the
flats
of
New
Jersey
—
among
the
cranes
,
the
fires
and
the
grinding
clatter
of
gears
.
When
they
sped
down
a
dark
road
through
an
empty
countryside
,
with
the
strands
of
snow
glittering
across
their
headlights
—
she
remembered
how
he
had
looked
in
the
summer
of
their
vacation
,
dressed
in
slacks
,
stretched
on
the
ground
of
a
lonely
ravine
,
with
the
grass
under
his
body
and
the
sun
on
his
bare
arms
.
He
belonged
in
the
countryside
,
she
thought
—
he
belonged
everywhere
—
he
was
a
man
who
belonged
on
earth
—
and
then
she
thought
of
the
words
which
were
more
exact
:
he
was
a
man
to
whom
the
earth
belonged
,
the
man
at
home
on
earth
and
in
control
.
Why
,
then
—
she
wondered
—
should
he
have
had
to
carry
a
burden
of
tragedy
which
,
in
silent
endurance
,
he
had
accepted
so
completely
that
he
had
barely
known
he
carried
it
?
She
knew
part
of
the
answer
;
she
felt
as
if
the
whole
answer
were
close
and
she
would
grasp
it
on
some
approaching
day
.
But
she
did
not
want
to
think
of
it
now
,
because
they
were
moving
away
from
the
burdens
,
because
within
the
space
of
a
speeding
car
they
held
the
stillness
of
full
happiness
.
She
moved
her
head
imperceptibly
to
let
it
touch
his
shoulder
for
a
moment
.
The
car
left
the
highway
and
turned
toward
the
lighted
squares
of
distant
windows
,
that
hung
above
the
snow
beyond
a
grillwork
of
bare
branches
.
Then
,
in
a
soft
,
dim
light
,
they
sat
at
a
table
by
a
window
facing
darkness
and
trees
.
The
inn
stood
on
a
knoll
in
the
woods
;
it
had
the
luxury
of
high
cost
and
privacy
,
and
an
air
of
beautiful
taste
suggesting
that
it
had
not
been
discovered
by
those
who
sought
high
cost
and
notice
.
She
was
barely
aware
of
the
dining
room
;
it
blended
away
into
a
sense
of
superlative
comfort
,
and
the
only
ornament
that
caught
her
attention
was
the
glitter
of
iced
branches
beyond
the
glass
of
the
window
.
She
sat
,
looking
out
,
the
blue
fur
half
-
slipping
off
her
naked
arms
and
shoulders
.
He
watched
her
through
narrowed
eyes
,
with
the
satisfaction
of
a
man
studying
his
own
workmanship
.
