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“Mr. Rearden,” said Francisco, his voice solemnly calm, “if you saw Atlas,
the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood,
blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but
still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the
greater his effort the heavier the world bore down upon his shoulders – what
would you tell him to do?”
“I…don’t know. What…could he do? What would you tell him?”
“To shrug.”
It was the chance conversation of two men somewhere behind her that came beatingInstructions: Replace "Rearden" with "America." Think cap and trade. Fabulous.
suddenly against her closed attention.
“But laws shouldn’t be passed that way, so quickly.”
“They’re not laws, they’re directives.”
“Then it’s illegal.”
“It’s not illegal, because the Legislature passed a law last month giving him the power to issue directives.”
“I don’t think directives should be sprung on people that way, out of the blue, like a
punch in the nose.”
“Well, there’s no time to palaver when it’s a national emergency.”
“But I don’t think it’s right and it doesn’t jibe. How is Rearden going to do it, when it says here—“
“Why should you worry about Rearden? He’s rich enough. He can find a way to do anything.”

