In those first years the roads were peopled with refugees shrouded up in their clothing. Wearing masks and goggles, sitting in their rags by the side of the road like ruined aviators. Their barrows heaped with shoddy. Towing wagons or carts. Their eyes bright in their skulls. Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland. The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all. (42.1)
On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world. (51.1)
[The Man:] Will you tell him [The Boy] goodbye?
[The Woman:] No. I will not.
[The Man:] Just wait till morning. Please.
[The Woman:] I have to go.
She had already stood up.
[The Man:] For the love of God, woman. What am I to tell him?
[The Woman:] I cant help you.
[The Man:] Where are you going to go? You cant even see.
[The Woman:] I dont have to.
He stood up. I'm begging you, he said.
[The Woman:] No. I will not. I cannot. (93.25-93.35)