451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Montagtouchedthemuzzle.
TheHoundgrowled.
Montagjumpedback.
TheHoundhalfroseinitskennelandlookedathimwithgreen-blueneonlightflickeringinitssuddenlyactivatedeyebulbs. Itgrowledagain,astrangeraspingcombinationofelectricalsizzle,afryingsound,ascrapingofmetal, aturningofcogsthatseemedrustyandancientwithsuspicion.
"No,no,boy,"saidMontag,hisheartpounding.
Hesawthesilverneedleextendedupontheairaninch,pullback,extend,pullback. Thegrowlsimmeredinthebeastanditlookedathim.
Montagbackedup.TheHoundtookastepfromitskennel.
Montaggrabbedthebrasspolewithonehand. Thepole,reacting,slidupward,andtookhimthroughtheceiling,quietly.Hesteppedoffinthehalf-litdeckoftheupperlevel. Hewastremblingandhisfacewasgreen-white. Below,theHoundhadsunkbackdownuponitseightincredibleinsectlegsandwashummingtoitselfagain,itsmulti-facetedeyesatpeace.
Montagstood,lettingthefearspass,bythedrop-hole.Behindhim,fourmenatacardtableunderagreen-liddedlightinthecornerglancedbrieflybutsaidnothing. OnlythemanwiththeCaptain’shatandthesignofthePhoenixonhishat,atlast,curious,hisplayingcardsinhisthinhand,talkedacrossthelongroom.
