451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
Isitbecausethefireisprettierbynight?Morespectacle,abettershow? ThepinkfaceofBeattynowshowedthefaintestpanicinthedoor.Thewoman’shandtwitchedonthesinglematchstick. Thefumesofkerosenebloomedupabouther.Montagfeltthehiddenbookpoundlikeaheartagainsthischest.
"Goon,"saidthewoman,andMontagfelthimselfbackawayandawayoutofthedoor,afterBeatty,downthesteps,acrossthelawn,wherethepathofkerosenelaylikethetrackofsomeevilsnail.
Onthefrontporchwhereshehadcometoweighthemquietlywithhereyes,herquietnessacondemnation,thewomanstoodmotionless.
Beattyflickedhisfingerstosparkthekerosene.
Hewastoolate.Montaggasped.
Thewomanontheporchreachedoutwithcontemptforthemall,andstruckthekitchenmatchagainsttherailing.
Peopleranoutofhousesalldownthestreet.
Theysaidnothingontheirwaybacktothefirehouse. Nobodylookedatanyoneelse.MontagsatinthefrontseatwithBeattyandBlack. Theydidnotevensmoketheirpipes. Theysattherelookingoutofthefrontofthegreatsalamanderastheyturnedacornerandwentsilentlyon.
"MasterRidley,"saidMontagatlast.
"What?"saidBeatty.
