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Montag
looked
at
the
cards
in
his
own
hands
.
"
I
--
I
've
been
thinking
.
About
the
fire
last
week
.
About
the
man
whose
library
we
fixed
.
What
happened
to
him
?
"
"
They
took
him
screaming
off
to
the
asylum
.
"
"
He
was
n't
insane
.
"
Beatty
arranged
his
cards
quietly
.
"
Any
man
's
insane
who
thinks
he
can
fool
the
Government
and
us
.
"
"
I
've
tried
to
imagine
,
"
said
Montag
,
"
just
how
it
would
feel
.
I
mean
to
have
firemen
burn
our
houses
and
our
books
.
"
"
We
have
n't
any
books
.
"
"
But
if
we
did
have
some
.
"
"
You
got
some
?
"
Beatty
blinked
slowly
.
"
No
.
"
Montag
gazed
beyond
them
to
the
wall
with
the
typed
lists
of
a
million
forbidden
books
.
Their
names
leapt
in
fire
,
burning
down
the
years
under
his
axe
and
his
hose
which
sprayed
not
water
but
kerosene
.
"
No
.
"
But
in
his
mind
,
a
cool
wind
started
up
and
blew
out
of
the
ventilator
grille
at
home
,
softly
,
softly
,
chilling
his
face
.
And
,
again
,
he
saw
himself
in
a
green
park
talking
to
an
old
man
,
a
very
old
man
,
and
the
wind
from
the
park
was
cold
,
too
.
