451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
You’renotliketheothers.I’veseenafew;Iknow.WhenItalk,youlookatme. WhenIsaidsomethingaboutthemoon,youlookedatthemoon,lastnight.Theotherswouldneverdothat. Theotherswouldwalkoffandleavemetalking.Orthreatenme.Noonehastimeanymoreforanyoneelse.You’reoneofthefewwhoputupwithme. That’swhyIthinkit’ssostrangeyou’reafireman,itjustdoesn’tseemrightforyou,somehow."
Hefelthisbodydivideitselfintoahotnessandacoldness,asoftnessandahardness,atremblingandanottrembling,thetwohalvesgrindingoneupontheother.
"You’dbetterrunontoyourappointment,"hesaid.
Andsheranoffandlefthimstandingthereintherain.Onlyafteralongtimedidhemove.
Andthen,veryslowly,ashewalked,hetiltedhisheadbackintherain,forjustafewmoments,andopenedhismouth...
TheMechanicalHoundsleptbutdidnotsleep,livedbutdidnotliveinitsgentlyhumming,gentlyvibrating,softlyilluminatedkennelbackinadarkcornerofthefirehouse. Thedimlightofoneinthemorning,themoonlightfromtheopenskyframedthroughthegreatwindow,touchedhereandthereonthebrassandthecopperandthesteelofthefaintlytremblingbeast. Lightflickeredonbitsofrubyglassandonsensitivecapillaryhairsinthenylon-brushednostrilsofthecreaturethatquiveredgently,gently,gently,itseightlegsspideredunderitonrubber-paddedpaws.
Montagsliddownthebrasspole.
