Cormac McCarthy's 'The Crossing'.

“He woke all night with the cold. He’d rise and mend back the fire and she was always watching him. When the flames came up her eyes burned out there like gatelamps to another world. A world burning on the shore of an unknowable void. A world construed out of blood and blood’s alkahest and blood in its core and in its integument because it was that nothing save blood had the power to resonate against the void which threatened hourly to devour it. He wrapped himself in the blanket and watched her. When those eyes and the nation to which they bore witness were gone at last with their dignity back into their origins, there would perhaps be other fires and other witnesses and other worlds otherwise beheld. But they would not be this one.” 

Cormac McCarthy,

The Crossing 

p.73

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