-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 810/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Her
facial
muscles
went
flowing
slowly
into
a
smile
of
satisfaction
:
this
was
an
opportunity
she
had
not
expected
.
Standing
on
the
Terminal
platform
,
at
a
point
halfway
down
the
length
of
the
train
,
Lillian
Rearden
watched
the
passengers
descending
from
the
Comet
.
Her
mouth
held
the
hint
of
a
smile
;
there
was
a
spark
of
animation
in
her
lifeless
eyes
;
she
glanced
from
one
face
to
another
,
jerking
her
head
with
the
awkward
eagerness
of
a
schoolgirl
.
She
was
anticipating
the
look
on
Rearden
’
s
face
when
,
with
his
mistress
beside
him
,
he
would
see
her
standing
there
.
Her
glance
darted
hopefully
to
every
flashy
young
female
stepping
off
the
train
.
It
was
hard
to
watch
:
within
an
instant
after
the
first
few
figures
,
the
train
had
seemed
to
burst
at
the
seams
,
flooding
the
platform
with
a
solid
current
that
swept
in
one
direction
,
as
if
pulled
by
a
vacuum
;
she
could
barely
distinguish
separate
persons
.
The
lights
were
more
glare
than
illumination
,
picking
this
one
strip
out
of
a
dusty
,
oily
darkness
.
She
needed
an
effort
to
stand
still
against
the
invisible
pressure
of
motion
.
Her
first
sight
of
Rearden
in
the
crowd
came
as
a
shock
:
she
had
not
seen
him
step
out
of
a
car
,
but
there
he
was
,
walking
in
her
direction
from
somewhere
far
down
the
length
of
the
train
.
He
was
alone
.
He
was
walking
with
his
usual
purposeful
speed
,
his
hands
in
the
pockets
of
his
trenchcoat
.
There
was
no
woman
beside
him
,
no
companion
of
any
kind
,
except
a
porter
hurrying
along
with
a
bag
she
recognized
as
his
.
In
a
fury
of
incredulous
disappointment
,
she
looked
frantically
for
any
single
feminine
figure
he
could
,
have
left
behind
.
She
felt
certain
that
she
would
recognize
his
choice
.
She
saw
none
that
could
be
possible
.
And
then
she
saw
that
the
last
car
of
the
train
was
a
private
car
,
and
that
the
figure
standing
at
its
door
,
talking
to
some
station
official
—
a
figure
wearing
,
not
minks
and
veils
,
but
a
rough
sports
coat
that
stressed
the
incomparable
grace
of
a
slender
body
in
the
confident
posture
of
this
station
’
s
owner
and
center
—
was
Dagny
Taggart
.
Then
Lillian
Rearden
understood
.
"
Lillian
!
What
’
s
the
matter
?
"
She
heard
Rearden
’
s
voice
,
she
felt
his
hand
grasping
her
arm
,
she
saw
him
looking
at
her
as
one
looks
at
the
object
of
a
sudden
emergency
.
He
was
looking
at
a
blank
face
and
an
unfocused
glance
of
terror
.
"
What
happened
?
What
are
you
doing
here
?
"
