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So
they
must
have
their
game
out
,
thought
Montag
.
The
circus
must
go
on
,
even
with
war
beginning
within
the
hour
...
He
watched
the
scene
,
fascinated
,
not
wanting
to
move
.
It
seemed
so
remote
and
no
part
of
him
;
it
was
a
play
apart
and
separate
,
wondrous
to
watch
,
not
without
its
strange
pleasure
.
That
's
all
for
me
,
you
thought
,
that
's
all
taking
place
just
for
me
,
by
God
.
If
he
wished
,
he
could
linger
here
,
in
comfort
,
and
follow
the
entire
hunt
on
through
its
swift
phases
,
down
alleys
across
streets
,
over
empty
running
avenues
,
crossing
lots
and
playgrounds
,
with
pauses
here
or
there
for
the
necessary
commercials
,
up
other
alleys
to
the
burning
house
of
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Black
,
and
so
on
finally
to
this
house
with
Faber
and
himself
seated
,
drinking
,
while
the
Electric
Hound
snuffed
down
the
last
trail
,
silent
as
a
drift
of
death
itself
,
skidded
to
a
halt
outside
that
window
there
.
Then
,
if
he
wished
,
Montag
might
rise
,
walk
to
the
window
,
keep
one
eye
on
the
TV
screen
,
open
the
window
,
lean
out
,
look
back
,
and
see
himself
dramatized
,
described
,
made
over
,
standing
there
,
limned
in
the
bright
small
television
screen
from
outside
,
a
drama
to
be
watched
objectively
,
knowing
that
in
other
parlours
he
was
large
as
life
,
in
full
colour
,
dimensionally
perfect
!
And
if
he
kept
his
eye
peeled
quickly
he
would
see
himself
,
an
instant
before
oblivion
,
being
punctured
for
the
benefit
of
how
many
civilian
parlour-sitters
who
had
been
wakened
from
sleep
a
few
minutes
ago
by
the
frantic
sirening
of
their
living-room
walls
to
come
watch
the
big
game
,
the
hunt
,
the
one-man
carnival
.
Would
he
have
time
for
a
speech
?
As
the
Hound
seized
him
,
in
view
of
ten
or
twenty
or
thirty
million
people
,
might
n't
he
sum
up
his
entire
life
in
the
last
week
in
one
single
phrase
or
a
word
that
would
stay
with
them
long
after
the
.
Hound
had
turned
,
clenching
him
in
its
metal-plier
jaws
,
and
trotted
off
in
darkness
,
while
the
camera
remained
stationary
,
watching
the
creature
dwindle
in
the
distance
--
a
splendid
fade-out
!
What
could
he
say
in
a
single
word
,
a
few
words
,
that
would
sear
all
their
faces
and
wake
them
up
?
"
There
,
"
whispered
Faber
.
Out
of
a
helicopter
glided
something
that
was
not
machine
,
not
animal
,
not
dead
,
not
alive
,
glowing
with
a
pale
green
luminosity
.
It
stood
near
the
smoking
ruins
of
Montag
's
house
and
the
men
brought
his
discarded
flame-thrower
to
it
and
put
it
down
under
the
muzzle
of
the
Hound
.
There
was
a
whirring
,
clicking
,
humming
.
Montag
shook
his
head
and
got
up
and
drank
the
rest
of
his
drink
.
"
It
's
time
.
I
'm
sorry
about
this
.
"
"
About
what
?
Me
?
My
house
?
I
deserve
everything
.
Run
,
for
God
's
sake
.
Perhaps
I
can
delay
them
here
--
"
"
Wait
.
There
's
no
use
your
being
discovered
.
When
I
leave
,
burn
the
spread
of
this
bed
,
that
I
touched
.
Burn
the
chair
in
the
living
room
,
in
your
wall
incinerator
.
