451 по фаренгейту
It was a pleasure to burn
"Beatty!"saidMildred.
"Itcan’tbehim."
"He’scomeback!"shewhispered.
Thefrontdoorvoicecalledagainsoftly."Someonehere..."
"Wewon’tanswer." Montaglaybackagainstthewallandthenslowlysanktoacrouchingpositionandbegantonudgethebooks,bewilderedly,withhisthumb,hisforefinger. Hewasshiveringandhewantedabovealltoshovethebooksupthroughtheventilatoragain, butheknewhecouldnotfaceBeattyagain. Hecrouchedandthenhesatandthevoiceofthefrontdoorspokeagain,moreinsistently. Montagpickedasinglesmallvolumefromthefloor. "Wheredowebegin?"Heopenedthebookhalf-wayandpeeredatit."Webeginbybeginning,Iguess."
"He’llcomein,"saidMildred,"andburnusandthebooks!"
Thefrontdoorvoicefadedatlast.Therewasasilence. Montagfeltthepresenceofsomeonebeyondthedoor,waiting,listening. Thenthefootstepsgoingawaydownthewalkandoverthelawn.
"Let’sseewhatthisis,"saidMontag.
Hespokethewordshaltinglyandwithaterribleselfconsciousness. Hereadadozenpageshereandthereandcameatlasttothis:
"‘Itiscomputedthateleventhousandpersonshaveatseveraltimessuffereddeathratherthansubmittobreakeggsatthesmallerend."‘
