451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Yethowlargethattimeseemednow. Howimmenseafigureshewasonthestagebeforehim; whatashadowshethrewonthewallwithherslenderbody! Hefeltthatifhiseyeitched,shemightblink. Andifthemusclesofhisjawsstretchedimperceptibly, shewouldyawnlongbeforehewould.
Why,hethought, nowthatIthinkofit,shealmostseemedtobewaitingformethere,inthestreet, sodamnedlateatnight....
Heopenedthebedroomdoor.
Itwaslikecomingintothecoldmarbledroomofamausoleumafterthemoonhadset. Completedarkness, notahintofthesilverworldoutside, thewindowstightlyshut,thechamberatomb -worldwherenosoundfromthegreatcitycouldpenetrate. Theroomwasnotempty.
Helistened.
Thelittlemosquito-delicatedancinghumintheair, theelectricalmurmurofahiddenwaspsnuginitsspecialpinkwarmnest. Themusicwasalmostloudenoughsohecouldfollowthetune. Hefelthissmileslideaway,melt,foldover, anddownonitselflikeatallowskin,likethestuffofafantasticcandleburningtoolongandnowcollapsingandnowblownout. Darkness. Hewasnothappy.Hewasnothappy. Hesaidthewordstohimself. Herecognizedthisasthetruestateofaffairs. Heworehishappinesslikeamaskandthegirlhadrunoffacrossthelawnwiththemask andtherewasnowayofgoingtoknockonherdoorandaskforitback.
Withoutturningonthelightheimaginedhowthisroomwouldlook. Hiswifestretchedonthebed,uncoveredandcold, likeabodydisplayedonthelidofatomb, hereyesfixedtotheceiling byinvisiblethreadsofsteel,immovable.
