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- Джон Уиндем
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"
If
we
face
it
squarely
,
there
’
s
a
simple
choice
,
"
I
said
.
"
Either
we
can
set
out
to
save
what
can
be
saved
from
the
wreck
—
and
that
has
to
include
ourselves
—
or
we
can
devote
ourselves
to
stretching
the
lives
of
these
people
a
little
longer
.
That
is
the
most
objective
view
I
can
take
.
But
I
can
see
,
too
,
that
the
more
obviously
humane
course
is
also
,
probably
,
the
road
to
suicide
.
Should
we
spend
our
time
in
prolonging
misery
when
we
believe
that
there
is
no
chance
of
saving
the
people
in
the
end
?
Would
that
be
the
best
use
to
make
of
ourselves
?
"
She
nodded
slowly
.
"
Put
like
that
,
there
doesn
’
t
seem
to
be
much
choice
,
does
there
?
And
even
if
we
could
save
a
few
,
which
are
we
going
to
choose
?
And
who
are
we
to
choose
?
And
how
long
could
we
do
it
,
anyway
?
"
"
There
’
s
nothing
easy
about
this
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
’
ve
no
idea
Ac
what
proportion
of
semidisabled
persons
it
may
be
possible
for
us
to
support
when
we
come
to
the
end
of
easy
supplies
,
but
I
don
’
t
imagine
it
could
be
very
high
.
"
"
You
’
ve
made
up
your
mind
,
"
she
said
,
glancing
at
me
.
There
might
or
might
not
have
been
a
tinge
of
disapproval
her
voice
.
"
My
dear
,
"
I
said
,
"
I
don
’
t
like
this
any
more
than
you
do
.
I
’
ve
put
the
alternatives
badly
before
you
.
Do
we
help
those
who
have
survived
the
catastrophe
to
rebuild
some
kind
of
life
?
Or
do
we
make
a
moral
gesture
which
,
on
the
face
of
it
,
can
scarcely
be
more
than
a
gesture
?
The
people
across
the
road
there
evidently
intend
to
survive
.
"
She
dug
her
fingers
into
the
earth
and
let
the
soil
trickle
out
of
her
hand
.
