451 по фаренгейту

           Andifhekepthiseyepeeledquicklyhewouldseehimself,aninstantbeforeoblivion,beingpuncturedforthebenefitofhowmanycivilianparlour-sitterswhohadbeenwakenedfromsleep afewminutesagobythefranticsireningoftheirliving-roomwallstocomewatchthebiggame, thehunt,theone-mancarnival. 

           Wouldhehavetimeforaspeech? AstheHoundseizedhim,inviewoftenortwentyorthirtymillionpeople,mightn’thesumuphisentirelifeinthelastweek inonesinglephraseorawordthatwouldstaywiththemlongafterthe. Houndhadturned,clenchinghiminitsmetal-plierjaws,andtrottedoffindarkness, whilethecameraremainedstationary,watchingthecreaturedwindleinthedistance—asplendidfade-out! Whatcouldhesayinasingleword,afewwords,thatwouldsearalltheirfacesandwakethemup? 

           "There,"whisperedFaber. 

           Outofahelicopterglidedsomethingthatwasnotmachine,notanimal,notdead,notalive,glowingwithapalegreenluminosity. ItstoodnearthesmokingruinsofMontag’shouse andthemenbroughthisdiscardedflame-throwertoitandputitdownunderthemuzzleoftheHound. Therewasawhirring,clicking,humming. 

           Montagshookhisheadandgotupanddranktherestofhisdrink. "It’stime.I’msorryaboutthis." 

           "Aboutwhat?Me?Myhouse?Ideserveeverything. Run,forGod’ssake.PerhapsIcandelaythemhere—" 

           "Wait.There’snouseyourbeingdiscovered. WhenIleave,burnthespreadofthisbed,thatItouched. Burnthechairinthelivingroom,inyourwallincinerator.