451 по фаренгейту

           Nowhemustbecleanandpresentableifhewished,towalk,notrun, strollcalmlyacrossthatwideboulevard. Itwouldgivehimanextramarginofsafety ifhewashedupandcombedhishairbeforehewentonhiswaytogetwhere...? 

           Yes,hethought,whereamIrunning? 

           Nowhere.Therewasnowheretogo,nofriendtoturnto,really. ExceptFaber. Andthenherealizedthathewasindeed,runningtowardFaber’shouse,instinctively. ButFabercouldn’thidehim;itwouldbesuicideeventotry. ButheknewthathewouldgotoseeFaberanyway,forafewshortminutes. Faber’swouldbetheplacewherehemightrefuelhisfastdrainingbeliefinhisownabilitytosurvive. HejustwantedtoknowthattherewasamanlikeFaberintheworld. Hewantedtoseethemanaliveandnotburnedbacktherelikeabodyshelledinanotherbody. AndsomeofthemoneymustbeleftwithFaber,ofcourse,tobespentafterMontagranonhisway. Perhapshecouldmaketheopencountryandliveonorneartheriversandnearthehighways,inthefieldsandhills. 

           Agreatwhirlingwhispermadehimlooktothesky. 

           Thepolicehelicopterswererisingsofarawaythatitseemedsomeonehadblownthegreyheadoffadrydandelionflower. Twodozenofthemflurried,wavering,indecisive,threemilesoff,likebutterfliespuzzledbyautumn, andthentheywereplummetingdowntoland,onebyone,here,there,softlykneadingthestreetswhere,turnedbacktobeetles, theyshriekedalongtheboulevardsor,assuddenly,leaptbackintothesir,continuingtheirsearch. 

           Andherewasthegasstation, itsattendantsbusynowwithcustomers.Approachingfromtherear ,Montagenteredthemen’swashroom.