451 по фаренгейту

           Howstrange,strange,towanttodiesomuchthatyouletamanwalkaroundarmed andtheninsteadofshuttingupandstayingalive, yougoonyellingatpeopleandmakingfunofthemuntilyougetthemmad,andthen... 

           Atadistance,runningfeet. 

           Montagsatup. Let’sgetoutofhere. Comeon,getup,getup,youjustcan’tsit! Buthewasstillcryingandthathadtobefinished. Itwasgoingawaynow. Hehadn’twantedtokillanyone,notevenBeatty. Hisfleshgrippedhimandshrankasifithadbeenplungedinacid. Hegagged. HesawBeatty,atorch,notmoving,flutteringoutonthegrass. Hebitathisknuckles. I’msorry,I’msorry,ohGod,sorry... 

           Hetriedtopieceitalltogether,togobacktothenormalpatternoflifeafewshortdaysagobeforethesieveandthesand, Denham’sDentifrice,moth-voices,fireflies,thealarmsandexcursions, toomuchforafewshortdays,toomuch,indeed,foralifetime. 

           Feetraninthefarendofthealley. 

           "Getup!"hetoldhimself. "Damnit,getup!"hesaidtotheleg,andstood. Thepainswerespikesdriveninthekneecapandthenonlydarningneedlesandthenonlycommon, ordinarysafetypins,andafterhehaddraggedalongfiftymorehopsandjumps, fillinghishandwithsliversfromtheboardfence,thepricklingwaslikesomeoneblowingasprayofscaldingwateronthatleg. Andthelegwasatlasthisownlegagain. Hehadbeenafraidthatrunningmightbreakthelooseankle. Now,suckingallthenightintohisopenmouth,andblowingitoutpale,withalltheblacknessleftheavilyinsidehimself, hesetoutinasteadyjoggingpace. Hecarriedthebooksinhishands. 

           HethoughtofFaber.