By Ayn Rand
The unbelievable tale of a guy who stated that he might cease the motor of the world—and did. super in scope, breathtaking in its suspense, Atlas Shrugged is in contrast to the other e-book you've ever read.
Note: ISBN indexed above is the paperback; the dossier is the retail booklet with ISBN 9781101137192.
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Additional resources for Atlas Shrugged (Centennial Edition)
The bullriding. ” “Don’t think so,” said the crotchscratcher. ” “He won’t,” said Leecil, and to Diamond, ‘You bet it ain’t no picnic. ” It turned out that it was a picnic and he did get tore up. His mother, Kaylee Felts, managed a tourist store, one of a chain headquartered in Denver: HIGH WEST—Vintage Cowboy Gear, Western Antiques, Spurs, Collectibles. Diamond had helped open boxes, dust showcases, wire-brush crusty spurs since he was twelve and she told him there was probably a place in the business for him after college, one of the other stores if he wanted to see the world.
Look at your hands,” she said. “They’re a mess. ” She was dolled up, her hair long and streaked blond, crimped like Chinese noodles, her eyelids iridescent blue. Diamond extended his fingers, turned his carefully scrubbed hands palm up, palm down, muscular hands with cut knuckles and small scars, two nails purple-black and lifting off at the base. “They’re clean. And I’m not broke. ” “Oh, eat some salad,” she said. They ate in silence, forks clicking among the pieces of cucumber and tomato. He disliked cucumber.
He grasped the car door handle. It was locked. Inside, by the dashboard glow, he could see the gleam of the keys in the ignition where he’d left them to keep the car running. It was almost funny. He picked up a big two-handed rock and smashed it on the driver’s-side window, slipped his arm in through the hole, into the delicious warmth of the car, a contortionist’s reach, twisting behind the steering wheel and down, and had he not kept limber with exercise and nut cutlets and green leafy vegetables he never could have reached the keys.