451 по фаренгейту
The Sieve and the Sand
Outside,crossingthelawn,onhiswaytowork,hetriednottoseehowcompletelydarkanddesertedClarisseMcClellan’shousewas...
Onthewaydowntownhewassocompletelyalonewithhisterribleerrorthathefeltthenecessityforthestrangewarmnessandgoodnessthatcamefromafamiliarandgentlevoicespeakinginthenight. Already,inafewshorthours,itseemedthathehadknownFaberalifetime. Nowheknewthathewastwopeople,thathewasaboveallMontag,whoknewnothing,whodidnotevenknowhimselfafool,butonlysuspectedit. Andheknewthathewasalsotheoldmanwhotalkedtohimandtalkedtohimasthetrainwassuckedfromoneendofthenightcitytotheotherononelongsickeninggaspofmotion. Inthedaystofollow,andinthenightswhentherewasnomoonandinthenightswhentherewasaverybrightmoonshiningontheearth, theoldmanwouldgoonwiththistalkingandthistalking,dropbydrop,stonebystone,flakebyflake. HismindwouldwelloveratlastandhewouldnotbeMontaganymore, thistheoldmantoldhim,assuredhim,promisedhim. HewouldbeMontag-plus-Faber,firepluswater, andthen,oneday,aftereverythinghadmixedandsimmeredandworkedawayinsilence,therewouldbeneitherfirenorwater,butwine. Outoftwoseparateandoppositethings,athird. Andonedayhewouldlookbackuponthefoolandknowthefool. Evennowhecouldfeelthestartofthelongjourney,theleave-taking,thegoingawayfromtheselfhehadbeen.
Itwasgoodlisteningtothebeetlehum,thesleepymosquitobuzzanddelicatefiligreemurmuroftheoldman’svoiceatfirstscoldinghim andthenconsolinghiminthelatehourofnightasheemergedfromthesteamingsubwaytowardthefirehouseworld.
"Pity,Montag,pity.Don’thaggleandnagthem;youweresorecentlyoneofthemyourself.
