451 по фаренгейту
The Sieve and the Sand
Abomberflighthadbeenmovingeastallthetimetheytalked, andonlynowdidthetwomenstopandlisten,feelingthegreatjetsoundtrembleinsidethemselves.
"Patience,Montag.Letthewarturnoffthe‘families.’ Ourcivilizationisflingingitselftopieces. Standbackfromthecentrifuge."
"Therehastobesomeonereadywhenitblowsup."
"What?MenquotingMilton?Saying,IrememberSophocles? Remindingthesurvivorsthatmanhashisgoodside,too? Theywillonlygatheruptheirstonestohurlateachother. Montag,gohome.Gotobed. Whywasteyourfinalhoursracingaboutyourcagedenyingyou’reasquirrel?"
"Thenyoudon’tcareanymore?"
"IcaresomuchI’msick."
"Andyouwon’thelpme?"
"Goodnight,goodnight."
Montag’shandspickeduptheBible. Hesawwhathishandshaddoneandhelookedsurprised.
"Wouldyouliketoownthis?"
Fabersaid,"I’dgivemyrightarm."
Montagstoodthereandwaitedforthenextthingtohappen. Hishands,bythemselves,liketwomenworkingtogether,begantoripthepagesfromthebook. Thehandstoretheflyleafandthenthefirstandthenthesecondpage.
