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Lights
flicked
on
and
house-doors
opened
all
down
the
street
,
to
watch
the
carnival
set
up
.
Montag
and
Beatty
stared
,
one
with
dry
satisfaction
,
the
other
with
disbelief
,
at
the
house
before
them
,
this
main
ring
in
which
torches
would
be
juggled
and
fire
eaten
.
"
Well
,
"
said
Beatty
,
"
now
you
did
it
.
Old
Montag
wanted
to
fly
near
the
sun
and
now
that
he
's
burnt
his
damn
wings
,
he
wonders
why
.
Did
n't
I
hint
enough
when
I
sent
the
Hound
around
your
place
?
"
Montag
's
face
was
entirely
numb
and
featureless
;
he
felt
his
head
turn
like
a
stone
carving
to
the
dark
place
next
door
,
set
in
its
bright
borders
of
flowers
.
Beatty
snorted
.
"
Oh
,
no
!
You
were
n't
fooled
by
that
little
idiot
's
routine
,
now
,
were
you
?
Flowers
,
butterflies
,
leaves
,
sunsets
,
oh
,
hell
!
It
's
all
in
her
file
.
I
'll
be
damned
.
I
've
hit
the
bullseye
.
Look
at
the
sick
look
on
your
face
.
A
few
grass-blades
and
the
quarters
of
the
moon
.
What
trash
.
What
good
did
she
ever
do
with
all
that
?
"
Montag
sat
on
the
cold
fender
of
the
Dragon
,
moving
his
head
half
an
inch
to
the
left
,
half
an
inch
to
the
right
,
left
,
right
,
left
right
,
left
...
"
She
saw
everything
.
She
did
n't
do
anything
to
anyone
.
She
just
let
them
alone
.
"
"
Alone
,
hell
!
She
chewed
around
you
,
did
n't
she
?
One
of
those
damn
do-gooders
with
their
shocked
,
holier-than-thou
silences
,
their
one
talent
making
others
feel
guilty
.
God
damn
,
they
rise
like
the
midnight
sun
to
sweat
you
in
your
bed
!
"
The
front
door
opened
;
Mildred
came
down
the
steps
,
running
,
one
suitcase
held
with
a
dream-like
clenching
rigidity
in
her
fist
,
as
a
beetle-taxi
hissed
to
the
curb
.
"
Mildred
!
"
She
ran
past
with
her
body
stiff
,
her
face
floured
with
powder
,
her
mouth
gone
,
without
lipstick
.
