"Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rand Ayn)

unprecedented phenomenon of an implacable anger in EddieтАЩs voice. "WhatтАЩs the
matter?"
"You know whatтАЩs the matter. Your sister said"
"Damn my sister!" said James Taggart.
Eddie Willers did not move. He did not answer. He stood looking straight
ahead. But he did not see James Taggart or anything in the office.
Ryn Rand - ATLAS SHRUGGED
CHAPTER ITHE THEME 8
After a moment, he bowed and walked out.
In the anteroom, the clerks of James TaggartтАЩs personal staff were switching
off the lights, getting ready to leave for the day. But Pop Harper, chief
clerk, still sat at his desk, twisting the levers of a half-dismembered
typewriter. Everybody in the company had the impression that Pop Harper was
born in that particular corner at that particular desk and never intended to
leave it. He had been chief clerk for James TaggartтАЩs father.
Pop Harper glanced up at Eddie Willers as he came out of the presidentтАЩs
office. It was a wise, slow glance; it seemed to say that he knew that
EddieтАЩs visit to their part of the building meant trouble on the line, knew
that nothing had come of the visit, and was completely indifferent to the
knowledge. It was the cynical indifference which Eddie Willers had seen in
the eyes of the bum on the street corner.
"Say, Eddie, know where I could get some woolen undershirts?" he asked,
"Tried all over town, but nobodyтАЩs got тАЩem."
"I donтАЩt know," said Eddie, stopping. "Why do you ask me?"
"I just ask everybody. Maybe somebodyтАЩ!! tell me."
Eddie looked uneasily at the blank, emaciated face and white hair.
"ItтАЩs cold in this joint," said Pop Harper. "ItтАЩs going to be colder this
winter."
"What are you doing?" Eddie asked, pointing at the pieces of typewriter.
"The damn thingтАЩs busted again. No use sending it out, took them three months
to fix it the last time. Thought IтАЩd patch it up myself. Not for long, I
guess." He let his fist drop down on the keys. "YouтАЩre ready for the junk
pile, old pal. Your days are numbered."
Eddie started. That was the sentence he had tried to remember: Your days are
numbered. But he had forgotten in what connection he had tried to remember
it.
"ItтАЩs no use, Eddie," said Pop Harper.
"WhatтАЩs no use?"
"Nothing. Anything."
"WhatтАЩs the matter, Pop?"
"IтАЩm not going to requisition a new typewriter. The new ones are made of tin.
When the old ones go, that will be the end of typewriting. There was an
accident in the subway this morning, their brakes wouldnтАЩt work. You ought to
go home, Eddie, turn on the radio and listen to a good dance band. Forget it,
boy. Trouble with you is you never had a hobby. Somebody stole the electric
light bulbs again, from off the staircase, down where I live. IтАЩve got a pain
in my chest. CouldnтАЩt get any cough drops this morning, the drugstore on our
corner went bankrupt last week. The Texas-Western Railroad went bankrupt last
month. They closed the Queensborough Bridge yesterday for temporary repairs.
Oh well, whatтАЩs the use? Who is John Galt?"