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Pg. 70 "Again he found himself thinking of the green park a year ago. The thought had been with him many times recently but now he remembered how it was that day in the city park when he had seen that old man in the black suit hide something, quickly, in his coat."
Pg. 71 "He dialed the call on a secondary phone. The phone on the far end of the line called Faber's name a dozen times before the professor answered in a faint voice. Montag identified himself and was met with a lengthy silence. 'Yes Mr. Montag?' 'Professor Faber, I have a rather odd question to ask. How many copies of the Bible are left in this country?'"
Pg 78 "Mr. Montag, you are looking at a coward. I saw the way things were going, a long time back. I said nothing. I'm one of the innocents who could have spoken up and out when no one would listen to the guilty, but I did not speak and thus became guilty myself. And when finally they set the structure to burn the books, using fireman, I grunted a few times and subsided, for there were no others grunting or yelling with me, by then. Now, it's too late."
Pg. 94 "'What've you got there; isn't that a book? I thought that all special training these days was done by film.' Mrs. Phelps blinked. 'You reading up on fireman theory?' 'Theory, hell,' said Montag. 'It's poetry.' 'Montag.' A whisper. 'Leave me alone!' Montag felt himself turning in a great circling roar and buzz and hum."
Pg. 101 "They sat and the cards were dealt. IN Beatty's sight, Montag felt the guilt of his hands. His fingers were like ferrets that had done some evil and now never rested, always stirred and picked and hid in pockets, moving from under Beatty's alcohol-flame stare. If Beatty so much as breathed on them, Montag felt that his hands might wither, turn over on their sides, and never be shocked to life again; they would be buried the rest of his life in his coat sleeves, forgotten."
Pg. 113 "'Hand it over, Guy,' said Beatty with a fixed smile. And then he was a shrieking blaze, a jumping, sprawling gibbering manikin, no longer human or known, all writhing flame on the lawn as Montag shot one continuous pulse of liquid fire on him. There was a hiss like a great mouthful of spittle banging a red-hot stove, a bubbling and frothing as if salt had been poured over a monstrous black snail to cause a terrible liquefaction and a boiling over of yellow foam."
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