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