451 по фаренгейту

           Helookeddowntheboulevard.Itwasclearnow. Acarfulofchildren,allages,Godknew, fromtwelvetosixteen,outwhistling,yelling,hurrahing,hadseenaman,averyextraordinarysight, amanstrolling,ararity,andsimplysaid, "Let’sgethim,"notknowinghewasthefugitiveMr.Montag,simplyanumberofchildren outforalongnightofroaringfiveorsixhundredmilesinafewmoonlithours,theirfacesicywithwind, andcominghomeornotcomingatdawn,aliveornotalive,thatmadetheadventure. 

           Theywouldhavekilledme,thoughtMontag,swaying, theairstilltornandstirringabouthimindust,touchinghisbruisedcheek. Fornoreasonatallintheworldtheywouldhavekilledme. 

           Hewalkedtowardthefarkerbtellingeachfoottogoandkeepgoing. Somehowhehadpickedupthespilledbooks;hedidn’trememberbendingortouchingthem. Hekeptmovingthemfromhandtohandasiftheywereapokerhandhecouldnotfigure. 

           IwonderiftheyweretheoneswhokilledClarisse? 

           Hestoppedandhismindsaiditagain,veryloud. 

           IwonderiftheyweretheoneswhokilledClarisse! 

           Hewantedtorunafterthemyelling. 

           Hiseyeswatered. 

           Thethingthathadsavedhimwasfallingflat. Thedriverofthatcar,seeingMontagdown,instinctivelyconsideredtheprobabilitythatrunningoverabodyatthatspeedmightturnthecarupsidedownandspillthemout. IfMontaghadremainedanuprighttarget...? 

           Montaggasped.