451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Itwasaflakingthree-storeyhouseintheancientpartofthecity,acenturyoldifitwasaday,butlikeallhousesithadbeengivenathinfireproofplasticsheathmanyyearsago,andthispreservativeshellseemedtobetheonlythingholdingitinthesky.
"Hereweare!"
Theengineslammedtoastop. Beatty,Stoneman,andBlackranupthesidewalk,suddenlyodiousandfatintheplumpfireproofslickers. Montagfollowed.
Theycrashedthefrontdoorandgrabbedatawoman,thoughshewasnotrunning,shewasnottryingtoescape. Shewasonlystanding,weavingfromsidetoside,hereyesfixeduponanothingnessinthewallasiftheyhadstruckheraterribleblowuponthehead. Hertonguewasmovinginhermouth,andhereyesseemedtobetryingtoremembersomething,andthentheyrememberedandhertonguemovedagain:
"‘Playtheman,MasterRidley;weshallthisdaylightsuchacandle,byGod’sgrace,inEngland,asItrustshallneverbeputout.’"
"Enoughofthat!"saidBeatty."Wherearethey?"
Heslappedherfacewithamazingobjectivityandrepeatedthequestion.Theoldwoman’seyescametoafocusuponBeatty. "Youknowwheretheyareoryouwouldn’tbehere,"shesaid.
Stonemanheldoutthetelephonealarmcardwiththecomplaintsignedintelephoneduplicateontheback
