Montag sat silently around the campfire in the center of what was
left of the town he once lived in. He dully listened to the other books
telling their stories, their chapters, their verses. Even though he
listened, he didn't catch a word said. They're mouths moved, words escaped
lips, but his ears would not catch the flying words. His thoughts kept
running back to Clarisse.
On his search through the remains of this now ghostly town earlier that day, he found her. He found her, as lifeless and cold as his wife was. A surge of emotions filled within him. There was hatred, anger, sadness, grief, there were no happy emotions. He had lost someone who was dear to him, closer than Mildred and his "friends" and the "family."
She made him think, helped him find who he was. She was like a daughter to him. Now he must deal with the lost of his precious child. The child who showed and shared with him much of the world's wonders.
He held her limp body close to him and cried. He cried for the first real time of his life. Cried with a real emotion, grief. Montag cried while holding her for a long while.
It was when he pulled away that he saw it. The puncture marks from a needle he'd seen close up and knew it was the same. The Hound's needle markings.
The other books laughed by the fire breaking Montag from his deep thoughts. The fire crackled and led Montag back to piecing together what happened to Clarisse. He could only think of one time that it may have been possible the Hound got to her. He couldn't think of any other time that the Hound was let loose.
The night he showed Mildred all of his books. That night the Hound was at the door, the alarm didn't ring because it had been shut off. As quickly as the Hound appeared, he fled off. Though Mildred had said she was killed by or car or something along those lines? No, she must have confused the girl with someone else. It was probably her mother who was killed by a car and I didn't see Clarisse for so long because her family was probably mourning for her unlike other families do. Poor girl, Montag thought sorrowfully, poor, poor girl.
Granger handed Montag a glass of what they called coffee. Montag absent-mindedly took the glass and drank the not-so-good-tasting liquid. He was beginning to blame himself now. If he hadn't taken those books out, if he didn't get Beatey suspicious of him, Clarisse wouldn't be dead. He could see her death scene now. She was skipping down the sidewalk, enjoying the evening breeze. She probably passed by the house, saw the Hound, and tried to talk to it as if it were as harmless as a ladybug. The Hound probably sensed something suspicious in her smell or Lord knows what and went for her.
Montag bent his face down low now, to cover the tears that were falling down his face. What was she thinking about in while it bounded for her? Montag though. Did she try to run, or fight it off? Why did she have to die?
Montag just sat there, with the other books around the fire, his face in his hands as he wept.
On his search through the remains of this now ghostly town earlier that day, he found her. He found her, as lifeless and cold as his wife was. A surge of emotions filled within him. There was hatred, anger, sadness, grief, there were no happy emotions. He had lost someone who was dear to him, closer than Mildred and his "friends" and the "family."
She made him think, helped him find who he was. She was like a daughter to him. Now he must deal with the lost of his precious child. The child who showed and shared with him much of the world's wonders.
He held her limp body close to him and cried. He cried for the first real time of his life. Cried with a real emotion, grief. Montag cried while holding her for a long while.
It was when he pulled away that he saw it. The puncture marks from a needle he'd seen close up and knew it was the same. The Hound's needle markings.
The other books laughed by the fire breaking Montag from his deep thoughts. The fire crackled and led Montag back to piecing together what happened to Clarisse. He could only think of one time that it may have been possible the Hound got to her. He couldn't think of any other time that the Hound was let loose.
The night he showed Mildred all of his books. That night the Hound was at the door, the alarm didn't ring because it had been shut off. As quickly as the Hound appeared, he fled off. Though Mildred had said she was killed by or car or something along those lines? No, she must have confused the girl with someone else. It was probably her mother who was killed by a car and I didn't see Clarisse for so long because her family was probably mourning for her unlike other families do. Poor girl, Montag thought sorrowfully, poor, poor girl.
Granger handed Montag a glass of what they called coffee. Montag absent-mindedly took the glass and drank the not-so-good-tasting liquid. He was beginning to blame himself now. If he hadn't taken those books out, if he didn't get Beatey suspicious of him, Clarisse wouldn't be dead. He could see her death scene now. She was skipping down the sidewalk, enjoying the evening breeze. She probably passed by the house, saw the Hound, and tried to talk to it as if it were as harmless as a ladybug. The Hound probably sensed something suspicious in her smell or Lord knows what and went for her.
Montag bent his face down low now, to cover the tears that were falling down his face. What was she thinking about in while it bounded for her? Montag though. Did she try to run, or fight it off? Why did she have to die?
Montag just sat there, with the other books around the fire, his face in his hands as he wept.