451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
"Stopit!"saidMontag.
"Iwasjustsayin’,"saidtheoperator.
"Areyoudone?"saidMontag.
Theyshutthemachinesuptight. "We’redone." Hisangerdidnoteventouchthem. Theystoodwiththecigarettesmokecurlingaroundtheirnosesandintotheireyeswithoutmakingthemblinkorsquint. "That’sfiftybucks."
"First,whydon’tyoutellmeifshe’llbeallright?"
"Sure,she’llbeO.K.Wegotallthemeanstuffrightinoursuitcasehere,itcan’tgetathernow. AsIsaid,youtakeouttheoldandputinthenewandyou’reO.K."
"NeitherofyouisanM.D.Whydidn’ttheysendanM.D.fromEmergency?"
"Hell!"theoperator’scigarettemovedonhislips. "Wegetthesecasesnineortenanight. Gotsomany,startingafewyearsago,wehadthespecialmachinesbuilt. Withtheopticallens,ofcourse,thatwasnew;therestisancient. Youdon’tneedanM.D. ,caselikethis;allyouneedistwohandymen,cleanuptheprobleminhalfanhour. Look"—hestartedforthedoor—"wegottago.Justhadanothercallontheoldear-thimble.Tenblocksfromhere.Someoneelsejustjumpedoffthecapofapillbox. Callifyouneedusagain.Keepherquiet. Wegotacontra-sedativeinher.She’llwakeuphungry.Solong."
Andthemenwiththecigarettesintheirstraight-linedmouths,themenwiththeeyesofpuff-adders,tookuptheirloadofmachineandtube,theircaseofliquidmelancholyandtheslowdarksludgeofnamelessstuff,andstrolledoutthedoor.
