Suite au déterrage et au massacre d’un blaireau :
« With the dried blood stiff on my temples I climbed the hill, cursing the satanic way of men, yet knowing myself vile, for they had not known what they were doing, but I betrayed an innocent : and the tears – weak, whiskey tears – would not wash from my brow the blood of a little brother.”
Williamson (Henry) in « The book of the village » – 1930
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