451 по фаренгейту

           Montagsatup. 

           Hedidnotmoveanyfurther,however.Theothermendidlikewise. Thesunwastouchingtheblackhorizonwithafaintredtip. Theairwascoldandsmelledofacomingrain. 

           Silently,Grangerarose,felthisarms,andlegs,swearing,swearingincessantlyunderhisbreath,tearsdrippingfromhisface. Heshuffleddowntotherivertolookupstream. 

           "It’sflat,"hesaid,alongtimelater. "Citylookslikeaheapofbaking-powder.It’sgone." Andalongtimeafterthat."Iwonderhowmanyknewitwascoming? Iwonderhowmanyweresurprised?" 

           Andacrosstheworld,thoughtMontag,howmanyothercitiesdead? Andhereinourcountry,howmany? Ahundred,athousand? 

           Someonestruckamatchandtouchedittoapieceofdrypapertakenfromtheirpocket,andshovedthisunderabitofgrassandleaves, andafterawhileaddedtinytwigswhichwerewetandsputteredbutfinallycaught,andthefiregrewlargerintheearlymorningasthesuncameup andthemenslowlyturnedfromlookingupriverandweredrawntothefire,awkwardly,withnothingtosay, andthesuncolouredthebacksoftheirnecksastheybentdown. 

           Grangerunfoldedanoilskinwithsomebaconinit. "We’llhaveabite.Thenwe’llturnaroundandwalkupstream. They’llbeneedingusupthatway." 

           Someoneproducedasmallfrying-panandthebaconwentintoitandthefrying-panwassetonthefire. Afteramomentthebaconbegantoflutteranddanceinthepanandthesputterofitfilledthemorningairwithitsaroma. Themenwatchedthisritualsilently.