451 по фаренгейту

           Hisfingerswerelikeferretsthathaddonesomeevilandnowneverrested, alwaysstirredandpickedandhidinpockets,movingfromunderBeatty’salcohol-flamestare. IfBeattysomuchasbreathedonthem,Montagfeltthathishandsmightwither,turnoverontheirsides,andneverbeshockedtolifeagain;theywouldbeburiedtherestofhislifeinhiscoat-sleeves,forgotten. Forthesewerethehandsthathadactedontheirown,nopartofhim,herewaswheretheconsciencefirstmanifesteditselftosnatchbooks,dartoffwithjobandRuthandWillieShakespeare, andnow,inthefirehouse,thesehandsseemedglovedwithblood. 

           Twiceinhalfanhour,Montaghadtorisefromthegameandgotothelatrinetowashhishands. Whenhecamebackhehidhishandsunderthetable. 

           Beattylaughed. "Let’shaveyourhandsinsight,Montag. Notthatwedon’ttrustyou,understand,but—" 

           Theyalllaughed. 

           "Well,"saidBeatty,"thecrisisispastandalliswell,thesheepreturnstothefold. We’reallsheepwhohavestrayedattimes. Truthistruth,totheendofreckoning,we’vecried. Theyareneveralonethatareaccompaniedwithnoblethoughts,we’veshoutedtoourselves. ‘Sweetfoodofsweetlyutteredknowledge,’SirPhilipSidneysaid. Butontheotherhand:‘Wordsarelikeleavesandwheretheymostabound,Muchfruitofsensebeneathisrarelyfound.’AlexanderPope. Whatdoyouthinkofthat?" 

           "Idon’tknow." 

           "Careful,"whisperedFaber,livinginanotherworld,faraway.