451 по фаренгейту

           HesawFaberstopuphisownbreathforfearofdrawingthatghostintohisownbody,perhaps,beingcontaminatedwiththephantomexhalationsandodoursofarunningman. 

           "TheMechanicalHoundisnowlandingbyhelicopteratthesiteoftheBurning!" 

           Andthereonthesmallscreenwastheburnthouse,andthecrowd,andsomethingwithasheetoveritandoutofthesky,fluttering,camethehelicopterlikeagrotesqueflower. 

           Sotheymusthavetheirgameout,thoughtMontag.Thecircusmustgoon,evenwithwarbeginningwithinthehour... 

           Hewatchedthescene,fascinated,notwantingtomove. Itseemedsoremoteandnopartofhim; itwasaplayapartandseparate,wondroustowatch,notwithoutitsstrangepleasure. That’sallforme,youthought,that’salltakingplacejustforme,byGod. 

           Ifhewished,hecouldlingerhere,incomfort,andfollowtheentirehuntonthroughitsswiftphases,downalleysacrossstreets, overemptyrunningavenues,crossinglotsandplaygrounds, withpauseshereorthereforthenecessarycommercials, upotheralleystotheburninghouseofMr.andMrs.Black,andsoonfinallytothishousewithFaberandhimselfseated,drinking, whiletheElectricHoundsnuffeddownthelasttrail, silentasadriftofdeathitself, skiddedtoahaltoutsidethatwindowthere. Then,ifhewished,Montagmightrise,walktothewindow, keeponeeyeontheTVscreen,openthewindow,leanout,lookback, andseehimselfdramatized,described,madeover,standingthere,limnedinthebrightsmalltelevisionscreenfromoutside, adramatobewatchedobjectively,knowingthatinotherparlourshewaslargeaslife,infullcolour,dimensionallyperfect!