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- Айн Рэнд
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- Стр. 926/1581
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The
cooking
of
meals
,
she
thought
,
is
like
the
feeding
of
coal
to
an
engine
for
the
sake
of
a
great
run
,
but
what
would
be
the
imbecile
torture
of
coaling
an
engine
that
had
no
run
to
make
?
It
is
not
proper
for
man
’
s
life
to
be
a
circle
,
she
thought
,
or
a
string
of
circles
dropping
off
like
zeros
behind
him
—
man
’
s
life
must
be
a
straight
line
of
motion
from
goal
to
farther
goal
,
each
leading
to
the
next
and
to
a
single
growing
sum
,
like
a
journey
down
the
track
of
a
railroad
,
from
station
to
station
to
—
oh
,
stop
it
!
Stop
it
—
she
told
herself
in
quiet
severity
,
when
the
scream
of
the
wounded
stranger
was
choked
off
—
don
’
t
think
of
that
,
don
’
t
look
too
far
,
you
like
building
this
path
,
build
it
,
don
’
t
look
beyond
the
foot
of
the
hill
.
She
had
driven
a
few
times
to
the
store
in
Woodstock
,
twenty
miles
away
,
to
buy
supplies
and
food
.
Woodstock
was
a
small
huddle
of
dying
structures
,
built
generations
ago
for
some
reason
and
hope
long
since
forgotten
.
There
was
no
railroad
to
feed
it
,
no
electric
power
,
nothing
but
a
county
highway
growing
emptier
year
by
year
.
The
only
store
was
a
wooden
hovel
,
with
spider
-
eaten
corners
and
a
rotted
patch
in
the
middle
of
the
floor
,
eaten
by
the
rains
that
came
through
the
leaking
roof
.
The
storekeeper
was
a
fat
,
pallid
woman
who
moved
with
effort
,
but
seemed
indifferent
to
her
own
discomfort
.
The
stock
of
food
consisted
of
dusty
cans
with
faded
labels
,
some
grain
,
and
a
few
vegetables
rotting
in
ancient
bins
outside
the
door
.
"
Why
don
’
t
you
move
those
vegetables
out
of
the
sun
?
"
Dagny
asked
once
.
The
woman
looked
at
her
blankly
,
as
if
unable
to
understand
the
possibility
of
such
a
question
.
"
They
’
ve
always
been
there
,
"
she
answered
indifferently
.
Driving
back
to
the
cabin
,
Dagny
looked
up
at
a
mountain
stream
that
fell
with
ferocious
force
down
a
sheer
granite
wall
,
its
spray
hanging
like
a
mist
of
rainbows
in
the
sun
.
She
thought
that
one
could
build
a
hydroelectric
plant
,
just
large
enough
to
supply
the
power
for
her
cabin
and
for
the
town
of
Woodstock
—
Woodstock
could
be
made
to
be
productive
—
those
wild
apple
trees
she
saw
in
such
unusual
numbers
among
the
dense
growth
on
the
hillsides
,
were
the
remnants
of
orchards
—
suppose
one
were
to
reclaim
them
,
then
build
a
small
spur
to
the
nearest
railroad
—
oh
,
stop
it
!
"
No
kerosene
today
,
"
the
storekeeper
told
her
on
her
next
trip
to
Woodstock
.
"
It
rained
Thursday
night
,
and
when
it
rains
,
the
trucks
can
’
t
get
through
Fairfield
gorge
,
the
road
’
s
flooded
,
and
the
kerosene
truck
won
’
t
be
back
this
way
till
next
month
.
"
"
If
you
know
that
the
road
gets
flooded
every
time
it
rains
,
why
don
’
t
you
people
repair
it
?
"
The
woman
answered
,
"
The
road
’
s
always
been
that
way
.
"
Driving
back
,
Dagny
stopped
on
the
crest
of
a
hill
and
looked
down
at
the
miles
of
countryside
below
.
She
looked
at
Fairfield
gorge
where
the
county
road
,
twisting
through
marshy
soil
below
the
level
of
a
river
,
got
trapped
in
a
crack
between
two
hills
.
It
would
be
simple
to
bypass
those
hills
,
she
thought
,
to
build
a
road
on
the
other
side
of
the
river
—
the
people
of
Woodstock
had
nothing
to
do
,
she
could
teach
them
—
cut
a
road
straight
to
the
southwest
,
save
miles
,
connect
with
the
state
highway
at
the
freight
depot
of
—
oh
,
stop
it
!
