them and never told you."
He dragged a chair into the hall, climbed up on it, and opened an air-vent. Reaching up, he began throwing books, big ones, little ones, red, yellow, green books, twenty, thirty, fifty books, one by one, swiftly, into the parlor at her feet. "There!"
"Leonard Montag! You didn't!"
"So you're not in this with me? You're in it up to your neck!"
She backed away as if she were surrounded by a pack of terrible rats. Her face was paled out and her eyes were fastened wide and she was breathing as if someone had struck her in the stomach. "They'll burn our house. They'll kill us."
"Let them try."
She hesitated; then, moaning, she seized a book and ran toward the fireplace.
He caught her. "No, Millie! No! Never touch my books. Never. Or, by God, if you do, touch just one of them meaning to burn it, believe me, Millie, I'll kill you."
"Leonard Montag! You wouldn't!"
HE SHOOK her. "Listen," he pleaded down into her face. He held her shoulders firmly, while her face bobbed helplessly, and tears sprang from her eyes.
"You must help me," he said, slowly, trying to find his way into her thinking. "You're in this now, whether you like it or not. I've never asked for anything in my life of you, but I ask it now, I plead it. We must start somewhere. We're going to read books. It's a thing we haven't done and must do.
We've got to know what these books are so we can tell others, and so that, eventually, they can tell everyone. Sit down now, Millie, there, right there. I'll help you, we'll help each other. Between us, we'll do something to destroy men like Leahy and Stoneman and Black and myself, and this world we live in, and put it all back together a different way. Do you hear me?"
"Yes." Her body sagged.
The doorbell rang.
They jerked about to stare at the door and the books toppled everywhere, everywhere in heaps.
"Leahy!"
"It can't be him!"
"He's come back!" sobbed Mildred.
The bell rang again.
"Let him stand out there. We won't answer." Montag reached blindly for a book on the floor, any book, any beginning, any start, any beauty at all would do. He put the book into Mildred's shaking hands.
The bell rang a third time, insistently.
"Read." He quivered a hand to a page. "Out loud."
Mildred's eyes were on the door and the bell rang angrily, loudly, again and again. "He'll come in," she said, "oh, God, and set fire to everything, and us."
But at last she found the line, with Montag standing over her, swaying, any line in the book, and after trying it four times, she began to fumble out the words of a poem printed there on the white, unburned paper: " And evening vanish and no more, The low pale light across the land — "
The bell rang. " Nor now the long light on the sea — And here face downward in the sun... "
Another ring.
Montag whispered. "He'll go away in a minute."
Mildred's lips trembled: "To feel how swift, how secretly The shadow of the night comes on..."
Near the ceiling, smoke from Leahy's cigar still lingered.
II
The Sieve and the Sand
THEY read the long afternoon through, while the fire flickered and blew on the hearth and the October rain fell from the sky upon the strangely quiet house. Now and again, Mr. Montag would silently pace the room, or bring in a bottle of cold beer and drink it easily or say, "Will you read that part over again? Isn't that an idea now?"
And Mildred's voice, as colorless as a beer bottle which contains a rare and beautiful wine but does not know it, went on enclosing the words in plain glass, pouring forth the beauties with a loose mouth, while her drab eyes moved over the words and over the words and the rain rained and the hour grew late.
They read a man named Shakespeare and a man named Poe and part of a book by a man named Matthew and one named Mark. On occasion, Mildred glanced fearfully at the
He dragged a chair into the hall, climbed up on it, and opened an air-vent. Reaching up, he began throwing books, big ones, little ones, red, yellow, green books, twenty, thirty, fifty books, one by one, swiftly, into the parlor at her feet. "There!"
"Leonard Montag! You didn't!"
"So you're not in this with me? You're in it up to your neck!"
She backed away as if she were surrounded by a pack of terrible rats. Her face was paled out and her eyes were fastened wide and she was breathing as if someone had struck her in the stomach. "They'll burn our house. They'll kill us."
"Let them try."
She hesitated; then, moaning, she seized a book and ran toward the fireplace.
He caught her. "No, Millie! No! Never touch my books. Never. Or, by God, if you do, touch just one of them meaning to burn it, believe me, Millie, I'll kill you."
"Leonard Montag! You wouldn't!"
HE SHOOK her. "Listen," he pleaded down into her face. He held her shoulders firmly, while her face bobbed helplessly, and tears sprang from her eyes.
"You must help me," he said, slowly, trying to find his way into her thinking. "You're in this now, whether you like it or not. I've never asked for anything in my life of you, but I ask it now, I plead it. We must start somewhere. We're going to read books. It's a thing we haven't done and must do.
We've got to know what these books are so we can tell others, and so that, eventually, they can tell everyone. Sit down now, Millie, there, right there. I'll help you, we'll help each other. Between us, we'll do something to destroy men like Leahy and Stoneman and Black and myself, and this world we live in, and put it all back together a different way. Do you hear me?"
"Yes." Her body sagged.
The doorbell rang.
They jerked about to stare at the door and the books toppled everywhere, everywhere in heaps.
"Leahy!"
"It can't be him!"
"He's come back!" sobbed Mildred.
The bell rang again.
"Let him stand out there. We won't answer." Montag reached blindly for a book on the floor, any book, any beginning, any start, any beauty at all would do. He put the book into Mildred's shaking hands.
The bell rang a third time, insistently.
"Read." He quivered a hand to a page. "Out loud."
Mildred's eyes were on the door and the bell rang angrily, loudly, again and again. "He'll come in," she said, "oh, God, and set fire to everything, and us."
But at last she found the line, with Montag standing over her, swaying, any line in the book, and after trying it four times, she began to fumble out the words of a poem printed there on the white, unburned paper: " And evening vanish and no more, The low pale light across the land — "
The bell rang. " Nor now the long light on the sea — And here face downward in the sun... "
Another ring.
Montag whispered. "He'll go away in a minute."
Mildred's lips trembled: "To feel how swift, how secretly The shadow of the night comes on..."
Near the ceiling, smoke from Leahy's cigar still lingered.
II
The Sieve and the Sand
THEY read the long afternoon through, while the fire flickered and blew on the hearth and the October rain fell from the sky upon the strangely quiet house. Now and again, Mr. Montag would silently pace the room, or bring in a bottle of cold beer and drink it easily or say, "Will you read that part over again? Isn't that an idea now?"
And Mildred's voice, as colorless as a beer bottle which contains a rare and beautiful wine but does not know it, went on enclosing the words in plain glass, pouring forth the beauties with a loose mouth, while her drab eyes moved over the words and over the words and the rain rained and the hour grew late.
They read a man named Shakespeare and a man named Poe and part of a book by a man named Matthew and one named Mark. On occasion, Mildred glanced fearfully at the
Similar Books
Unknown
Unknown
The Eden Series: The Complete Collection
Janelle Stalder
Kilting Me Softly: 1
Persephone Jones
Darkness Under the Sun
Dean Koontz
Sybil
Flora Rheta Schreiber
The Pyramid
William Golding
Nothing is Forever
Grace Thompson
Series of Unfortunate Events: The Grim Grotto
Lemony Snicket
The Tiger's Wife
Tea Obreht