451 по фаренгейту
The Sieve and the Sand
I’veheardtherumoursabouthate,too,onceinalongwhile,overtheyears. Doyouknowwhy?Idon’t,that’ssure! Maybethebookscangetushalfoutofthecave. Theyjustmightstopusfrommakingthesamedamninsanemistakes! Idon’thearthoseidiotbastardsinyourparlourtalkingaboutit. God,Millie,don’tyousee? Anhouraday,twohours,withthesebooks,andmaybe..."
Thetelephonerang.Mildredsnatchedthephone.
"Ann!"Shelaughed. "Yes,theWhiteClown’sontonight!"
Montagwalkedtothekitchenandthrewthebookdown. "Montag,"hesaid,"you’rereallystupid. Wheredowegofromhere?Doweturnthebooksin,forgetit?" HeopenedthebooktoreadoverMildred’slaughter.
PoorMillie,hethought.PoorMontag,it’smudtoyou,too. Butwheredoyougethelp,wheredoyoufindateacherthislate?
Holdon.Heshuthiseyes.Yes,ofcourse. Againhefoundhimselfthinkingofthegreenparkayearago. Thethoughthadbeenwithhimmanytimesrecently,butnowherememberedhowitwasthatdayinthecitypark whenhehadseenthatoldmanintheblacksuithidesomething,quicklyinhiscoat.
...Theoldmanleaptupasiftorun.AndMontagsaid,"Wait!"
"Ihaven’tdoneanything!"criedtheoldmantrembling.
"Noonesaidyoudid."
Theyhadsatinthegreensoftlightwithoutsayingawordforamoment,andthenMontagtalkedabouttheweather, andthentheoldmanrespondedwithapalevoice.
