He had wandered through the streets for hours, neither knowing nor caring where he was going. All he knew was that he couldn’t return to the empty rooms of the house, couldn’t look at the things they had touched and held and known with him. He couldn’t look at Kathy’s empty bed, at her clothes hanging still and useless in the closet, couldn’t look at the bed that he and Virginia had slept in, at Virginia’s clothes, her jewelry, all her perfumes on the bureau. He couldn’t go near the house.And so he walked and wandered, and he didn’t know where he was when the people started milling past him, when the man caught his arm and breathed garlic in his face.
Csúszik: 2
He remembered the man who one night had climbed to the top of the light post in front of the house and, while Robert Neville had watched through the peephole, had leaped into space, waving his arms frantically. Neville hadn’t been able to explain it at the time, but now the answer seemed obvious. The man had thought he was a bat.
Csúszik: 3
My emotions don’t need feeding any more. I don’t need liquor for forgetting or for escaping. I don’t have to escape from anything. Not now.