Cormac McCarthy. Road (№ 132184)

In the morning, made a fire and decided to walk along the shore, while the boy is sleeping. Went very close, and suddenly he felt uncomfortable with strange premonitions, and when he turned back, he saw that the boy stands on the beach wrapped in a blanket, and waiting for him. Added step, and when we approached him, the boy sat down wearily.
What's wrong with you? What's wrong with you?
I feel bad, dad.
Put his hand to his forehead son, hot as a furnace. Lifted, carried to the fire.
- Nothing, nothing. Get better.
- I think I'll puke.
Nothing.
He sat down on the sand next to her son and was holding him by the forehead while the child was throwing up. Wiped his mouth with his hand. The boy whispered:
- I'm sorry.
- Sh-sh-sh, you've done nothing wrong.