451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
"No,youdon’t,"shesaid, inawe.
Hefeltshewaswalkinginacircleabouthim, turninghimendforend,shakinghimquietly, andemptyinghispockets,withoutoncemovingherself.
"Kerosene,"hesaid,becausethesilencehadlengthened, "isnothingbutperfumetome."
"Doesitseemlikethat,really?"
"Ofcourse.Whynot?"
Shegaveherselftimetothinkofit. "Idon’tknow."Sheturnedtofacethesidewalkgoingtowardtheirhomes. "DoyoumindifIwalkbackwithyou? I’mClarisseMcClellan."
"Clarisse.GuyMontag. Comealong.Whatareyoudoingoutsolatewanderingaround?Howoldareyou?"
Theywalkedinthewarm-coolblowingnightonthesilveredpavement andtherewasthefaintestbreathoffreshapricotsandstrawberriesintheair, andhelookedaroundandrealizedthiswasquiteimpossible, solateintheyear.
Therewasonlythegirlwalkingwithhimnow, herfacebrightassnowinthemoonlight, andheknewshewasworkinghisquestionsaround, seekingthebestanswersshecouldpossiblygive.
"Well,"shesaid,"I’mseventeenandI’mcrazy. Myunclesaysthetwoalwaysgotogether. Whenpeopleaskyourage,hesaid,alwayssayseventeenandinsane. Isn’tthisanicetimeofnighttowalk?
