451 по фаренгейту

           "Mildred!" 

           Sheranpastwithherbodystiff,herfaceflouredwithpowder,hermouthgone,withoutlipstick. 

           "Mildred,youdidn’tputinthealarm!" 

           Sheshovedthevaliseinthewaitingbeetle,climbedin,andsatmumbling, "Poorfamily,poorfamily,oheverythinggone,everything,everythinggonenow..." 

           BeattygrabbedMontag’sshoulderasthebeetleblastedawayandhitseventymilesanhour,fardownthestreet,gone. 

           Therewasacrashlikethefallingpartsofadreamfashionedoutofwarpedglass,mirrors,andcrystalprisms. Montagdriftedaboutasifstillanotherincomprehensiblestormhadturnedhim, toseeStonemanandBlackwieldingaxes,shatteringwindow-panestoprovidecross-ventilation. 

           Thebrushofadeath’s-headmothagainstacoldblackscreen. "Montag,thisisFaber.Doyouhearme?Whatishappening?" 

           "Thisishappeningtome,"saidMontag. 

           "Whatadreadfulsurprise,"saidBeatty. "Foreveryonenowadaysknows,absolutelyiscertain,thatnothingwilleverhappentome. Othersdie,Igoon. Therearenoconsequencesandnoresponsibilities. Exceptthatthereare. Butlet’snottalkaboutthem,eh? Bythetimetheconsequencescatchupwithyou,it’stoolate,isn’tit,Montag?" 

           "Montag,canyougetaway,run?"askedFaber.