451 по фаренгейту
The Sieve and the Sand
Montaglookedup. Beattyneverdrove,buthewasdrivingtonight, slammingtheSalamanderaroundcorners,leaningforwardhighonthedriver’sthrone, hismassiveblackslickerflappingoutbehindsothatheseemedagreatblackbatflyingabovetheengine, overthebrassnumbers,takingthefullwind.
"Herewegotokeeptheworldhappy,Montag!"
Beatty’spink,phosphorescentcheeksglimmeredinthehighdarkness,andhewassmilingfuriously.
"Hereweare!"
TheSalamanderboomedtoahalt,throwingmenoffinslipsandclumsyhops. Montagstoodfixinghisraweyestothecoldbrightrailunderhisclenchedfingers.
Ican’tdoit,hethought. HowcanIgoatthisnewassignment,howcanIgoonburningthings? Ican’tgointhisplace.
Beatty,smellingofthewindthroughwhichhehadrushed,wasatMontag’selbow. "Allright,Montag?"
Themenranlikecripplesintheirclumsyboots,asquietlyasspiders.
AtlastMontagraisedhiseyesandturned. Beattywaswatchinghisface.
"Somethingthematter,Montag?"
"Why,"saidMontagslowly, "we’vestoppedinfrontofmyhouse."
