Jack London

“ The brute in him had merely orientated his reason.
"You are no earthly good, Al," he said. "You know that. You've made Mary's life a hell. You are a curse to your children. And you have not made life exactly a paradise for the rest of us."
"There's no use your talking," Al interjected. "I'm not going to stay here."
"That's what I'm coming to," George continued. "You don't have to stay here." (Al's face brightened, and he involuntarily made a movement, as though about to start towards the carriage.) ”

“ George's hand was on his arm.
"I want some whisky," he answered.
"You've already had some."
"That was hours ago. Go on, George, let me have some. It's the last day. Don't shut off on me until we get there. Heaven knows it will be soon enough!"
George glanced desperately up the street. The car was in sight.
"There isn't time for a drink," he said.
"I don't want a drink. I want a bottle." Al's voice became wheedling. "Go on, George. It's the last, the very last."
"No." The denial was as final as George's thin lips could make it. ”

“ And as he contemplated his brother, he felt in himself the rising up of a similar brute. He became suddenly aware that his fingers were tensing and crooking like a thug's, and he knew the desire to kill. And his reason, turned traitor at last, counselled that he should kill, that it was the only thing left for him to do.
He was aroused by a servant calling to him through the trees that the carriage was waiting. He answered. Then, looking straight before him, discovered his brother. ”