451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Beattystoodtherelookingathimsteadilywithhiseyes,whilehismouthopenedandbegantolaugh,verysoftly.
Onetwothreefourfivesixsevendays.AndasmanytimeshecameoutofthehouseandClarissewastheresomewhereintheworld. Oncehesawhershakingawalnuttree,oncehesawhersittingonthelawnknittingabluesweater, threeorfourtimeshefoundabouquetoflateflowersonhisporch,orahandfulofchestnutsinalittlesack,orsomeautumnleavesneatlypinnedtoasheetofwhitepaperandthumb-tackedtohisdoor. EverydayClarissewalkedhimtothecorner. Onedayitwasraining,thenextitwasclear,thedayafterthatthewindblewstrong, andthedayafterthatitwasmildandcalm,andthedayafterthatcalmdaywasadaylikeafurnaceofsummerandClarissewithherfaceallsunburntbylateafternoon.
"Whyisit,"hesaid,onetime,atthesubwayentrance,"IfeelI’veknownyousomanyyears?"
"BecauseIlikeyou,"shesaid,"andIdon’twantanythingfromyou. Andbecauseweknoweachother."
"Youmakemefeelveryoldandverymuchlikeafather."
"Nowyouexplain,"shesaid,"whyyouhaven’tanydaughterslikeme,ifyoulovechildrensomuch?"
"Idon’tknow."
"You’rejoking!"
"Imean—"Hestoppedandshookhishead."Well,mywife,she...Shejustneverwantedanychildrenatall."
