451 по фаренгейту
Burning Bright
Thefiremenwereenoughtocheckthat,nowandthen. No,thecitiesdon’tbotherus. Andyoulooklikehell."
Theymovedalongthebankoftheriver,goingsouth. Montagtriedtoseethemen’sfaces,theoldfacesherememberedfromthefirelight,linedandtired. Hewaslookingforabrightness,aresolve,atriumphovertomorrowthathardlyseemedtobethere. Perhapshehadexpectedtheirfacestoburnandglitterwiththeknowledgetheycarried,toglowaslanternsglow,withthelightinthem. Butallthelighthadcomefromthecampfire,andthesemenhadseemednodifferentfromanyotherswhohadrunalongrace,searchedalongsearch,seengoodthingsdestroyed, andnow,verylate,weregatheringtowaitfortheendofthepartyandtheblowingoutofthelamps. Theyweren’tatallcertainthatthethingstheycarriedintheirheadsmightmakeeveryfuturedawnglowwithapurerlight,theyweresureofnothingsavethatthebookswereonfilebehindtheirquieteyes, thebookswerewaiting,withtheirpagesuncut,forthecustomerswhomightcomebyinlateryears,somewithcleanandsomewithdirtyfingers.
Montagsquintedfromonefacetoanotherastheywalked.
"Don’tjudgeabookbyitscover,"someonesaid.
Andtheyalllaughedquietly,movingdownstream.
Therewasashriekandthejetsfromthecityweregoneoverheadlongbeforethemenlookedup. Montagstaredbackatthecity,fardowntheriver,onlyafaintglownow.
"Mywife’sbackthere."
"I’msorrytohearthat.Thecitieswon’tdowellinthenextfewdays,"saidGranger.
