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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- 451 по фаренгейту
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- Стр. 142/158
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The
railroad
track
.
The
track
that
came
out
of
the
city
and
rusted
across
the
land
,
through
forests
and
woods
,
deserted
now
,
by
the
river
.
Here
was
the
path
to
wherever
he
was
going
.
Here
was
the
single
familiar
thing
,
the
magic
charm
he
might
need
a
little
while
,
to
touch
,
to
feel
beneath
his
feet
,
as
he
moved
on
into
the
bramble
bushes
and
the
lakes
of
smelling
and
feeling
and
touching
,
among
the
whispers
and
the
blowing
down
of
leaves
.
He
walked
on
the
track
.
And
he
was
surprised
to
learn
how
certain
he
suddenly
was
of
a
single
fact
he
could
not
prove
.
Once
,
long
ago
,
Clarisse
had
walked
here
,
where
he
was
walking
now
.
Half
an
hour
later
,
cold
,
and
moving
carefully
on
the
tracks
,
fully
aware
of
his
entire
body
,
his
face
,
his
mouth
,
his
eyes
stuffed
with
blackness
,
his
ears
stuffed
with
sound
,
his
legs
prickled
with
burrs
and
nettles
,
he
saw
the
fire
ahead
.
The
fire
was
gone
,
then
back
again
,
like
a
winking
eye
.
He
stopped
,
afraid
he
might
blow
the
fire
out
with
a
single
breath
.
But
the
fire
was
there
and
he
approached
warily
,
from
a
long
way
off
.
It
took
the
better
part
of
fifteen
minutes
before
he
drew
very
close
indeed
to
it
,
and
then
he
stood
looking
at
it
from
cover
.
That
small
motion
,
the
white
and
red
colour
,
a
strange
fire
because
it
meant
a
different
thing
to
him
.
It
was
not
burning
;
it
was
warming
!
