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- Стр. 94/1581
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Dagny
liked
to
stop
at
his
newsstand
on
her
way
out
.
He
seemed
to
be
part
of
the
Taggart
Terminal
,
like
an
old
watchdog
too
feeble
to
protect
it
,
but
reassuring
by
the
loyalty
of
his
presence
.
He
liked
to
see
her
coming
,
because
it
amused
him
to
think
that
he
alone
knew
the
importance
of
the
young
woman
in
a
sports
coat
and
a
slanting
hat
,
who
came
hurrying
anonymously
through
the
crowd
.
She
stopped
tonight
,
as
usual
,
to
buy
a
package
of
cigarettes
.
"
How
is
the
collection
?
"
she
asked
him
.
"
Any
new
specimens
?
"
He
smiled
sadly
,
shaking
his
head
.
"
No
,
Miss
Taggart
.
There
aren
’
t
any
new
brands
made
anywhere
in
the
world
.
Even
the
old
ones
are
going
,
one
after
another
.
There
’
s
only
five
or
six
kinds
left
selling
now
.
There
used
to
be
dozens
.
People
aren
’
t
making
anything
new
any
more
.
"
"
They
will
.
That
’
s
only
temporary
.
"
He
glanced
at
her
and
did
not
answer
.
Then
he
said
,
"
I
like
cigarettes
,
Miss
Taggart
.
I
like
to
think
of
fire
held
in
a
man
’
s
hand
.
Fire
,
a
dangerous
force
,
tamed
at
his
fingertips
.
I
often
wonder
about
the
hours
when
a
man
sits
alone
,
watching
the
smoke
of
a
cigarette
,
thinking
.
I
wonder
what
great
things
have
come
from
such
hours
.
When
a
man
thinks
,
there
is
a
spot
of
fire
alive
in
his
mind
—
and
it
is
proper
that
he
should
have
the
burning
point
of
a
cigarette
as
his
one
expression
.
"
Do
they
ever
think
?
"
she
asked
involuntarily
,
and
stopped
;
the
question
was
her
one
personal
torture
and
she
did
not
want
to
discuss
it
.
The
old
man
looked
as
if
he
had
noticed
the
sudden
stop
and
understood
it
;
but
he
did
not
start
discussing
it
;
he
said
,
instead
,
"
I
don
’
t
like
the
thing
that
’
s
happening
to
people
,
Miss
Taggart
.
"
"
What
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
But
I
’
ve
watched
them
here
for
twenty
years
and
I
’
ve
seen
the
change
.
They
used
to
rush
through
here
,
and
it
was
wonderful
to
watch
,
it
was
the
hurry
of
men
who
knew
where
they
were
going
and
were
eager
to
get
there
.
Now
they
’
re
hurrying
because
they
are
afraid
.
It
’
s
not
a
purpose
that
drives
them
,
it
’
s
fear
.
They
’
re
not
going
anywhere
,
they
’
re
escaping
.
And
I
don
’
t
think
they
know
what
it
is
that
they
want
to
escape
.
They
don
’
t
look
at
one
another
.
They
jerk
when
brushed
against
.
They
smile
too
much
,
but
it
’
s
an
ugly
kind
of
smiling
:
it
’
s
not
joy
,
it
’
s
pleading
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
it
is
that
’
s
happening
to
the
world
.
"
He
shrugged
.
"
Oh
well
,
who
is
John
Galt
?
"
"
He
’
s
just
a
meaningless
phrase
!
"
