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"
Tired
,
Montag
?
Going
out
of
this
game
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Hold
on
.
Well
,
come
to
think
of
it
,
we
can
finish
this
hand
later
.
Just
leave
your
cards
face
down
and
hustle
the
equipment
.
On
the
double
now
.
"
And
Beatty
rose
up
again
.
"
Montag
,
you
do
n't
look
well
?
I
'd
hate
to
think
you
were
coming
down
with
another
fever
...
"
"
I
'll
be
all
right
.
"
"
You
'll
be
fine
.
This
is
a
special
case
.
Come
on
,
jump
for
it
!
"
They
leaped
into
the
air
and
clutched
the
brass
pole
as
if
it
were
the
last
vantage
point
above
a
tidal
wave
passing
below
,
and
then
the
brass
pole
,
to
their
dismay
slid
them
down
into
darkness
,
into
the
blast
and
cough
and
suction
of
the
gaseous
dragon
roaring
to
life
!
"
Hey
!
"
They
rounded
a
corner
in
thunder
and
siren
,
with
concussion
of
tyres
,
with
scream
of
rubber
,
with
a
shift
of
kerosene
bulk
in
the
glittery
brass
tank
,
like
the
food
in
the
stomach
of
a
giant
;
with
Montag
's
fingers
jolting
off
the
silver
rail
,
swinging
into
cold
space
,
with
the
wind
tearing
his
hair
back
from
his
head
,
with
the
wind
whistling
in
his
teeth
,
and
him
all
the
while
thinking
of
the
women
,
the
chaff
women
in
his
parlour
tonight
,
with
the
kernels
blown
out
from
under
them
by
a
neon
wind
,
and
his
silly
damned
reading
of
a
book
to
them
.
How
like
trying
to
put
out
fires
with
water-pistols
,
how
senseless
and
insane
.
One
rage
turned
in
for
another
.
One
anger
displacing
another
.
When
would
he
stop
being
entirely
mad
and
be
quiet
,
be
very
quiet
indeed
?
"
Here
we
go
!
"
Montag
looked
up
.
Beatty
never
drove
,
but
he
was
driving
tonight
,
slamming
the
Salamander
around
corners
,
leaning
forward
high
on
the
driver
's
throne
,
his
massive
black
slicker
flapping
out
behind
so
that
he
seemed
a
great
black
bat
flying
above
the
engine
,
over
the
brass
numbers
,
taking
the
full
wind
.
