Ernest Pérochon, Nêne — PART I. Chapter 13 (1922)
“ Trooper worked as if he were fighting. Rage dominated him, the drunken rage of his nights of dissipation. The blood had rushed to his head, driving out all his normal instincts, which were gentle and sensible. His jaw set, his eyes wild, he shook all over with an uncontrolled fury against Boiseriot, against the Catholics, against the machine, against the straw, against everything! Throwing his whole weight forward, he swept the shelf with wrathful arms. "The little fellow feeds better! By golly, I'll show them! Damn them!" He shouted: "Bring on the sheaves! Bring 'em on!" ”
