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might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading
It was an old song, old as the breed itself—one of the first songs of the younger world in a day when songs were sad.
the fear and mystery of the cold and dark that was to them fear and mystery.
François swore strange barbarous oaths,
There is an ecstasy
Bon passage 2 pages
going back into the womb of Time.
The dark circle became a dot on the moon-flooded snow as
the dominant primordial beast who had made his kill and found it good.
They cursed him, and his fathers and mothers before him, and all his seed to come after him down to the remotest generation, and every hair on his body and drop of blood
who sought gold under the shadow of the Pole.
the instincts (which were but the memories of his ancestors become habits)
Bon
Sometimes
Évocation à relire, de l'homme des cavernes, 5 pages
“They’re weak as water,
Their irritability arose out of their misery, increased with it, doubled upon it, outdistanced it.
They were simply so many bags of bones in which sparks of life fluttered faintly.
though very faintly he could hear the impact of the club upon his body.
Mercedes screamed, cried, laughed, and manifested the chaotic abandonment of hysteria.
but behind him were the shades
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