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"Hold, hold! malignant, unhappy boy!" cried Godwin, between his grinded teeth, as a shout of indignant, yet joyous ferocity broke from the crowded ships thus hailed. "The curse of all time be on him who draws the first native blood in sight of the altars and hearths of London! Hear me, thou with the vulture's blood-lust, and the peacock's vain joy in the gaudy plume! Hear me, Tostig, and tremble.
He was a mighty beast, mightily muscled, and the urge that has made males fight since the dawn of life on earth filled him with the blood-lust and the thirst to slay; but not one whit less did it fill me with the same primal passions.
Some go with a noble sense of sacrifice, some with blood-lust in their hearts, most with the herd-instinct following the lead, little knowing that they are but the pawns of a game which is being played behind closed doors by the great gamblers in the courts and Foreign Offices, and committee-rooms, and counting-houses, of the political casinos in Europe.
She laughed aloud, suddenly, a ghastly sound that made cold chills go down her rider's spine, for it was the mad laughter of the blood-lust! Billy knew that Jim Last in his best moments was never so coldly a killer as his daughter was tonight. So they traversed the roofed cut and came out into the starlight of the first cañon. Up this they went in single file.
If we may accept as true the history of sport in Europe, there have been men who have loved slaughter with a genuine blood-lust that is quite foreign to the real nature-loving sportsman. In America, the impulse is different. Here, there is raging a genuine fever for private game preserves. Some of those already existing are of fine proportions, and cost fortunes to create.
It instils a curious, terrible kind of blood-lust to kill, not once, but as many times as possible in the same hunt; to be content not with one death, but to slay and slay until the whole herd is destroyed.
The portraits in our drawing-room The Dictator Rosas who was like an Englishman The strange face of his wife, Encarnacion The traitor Urquiza The Minister of War, his peacocks, and his son Home again from the city The War deprives us of our playmate Natalia, our shepherd's wife Her son, Medardo The Alcalde our grand old man Battle of Monte Caseros The defeated army Demands for fresh horses In peril My father's shining defects His pleasure in a thunder storm A childlike trust in his fellow-men Soldiers turn upon their officer A refugee given up and murdered Our Alcalde again On cutting throats Ferocity and cynicism Native blood-lust and its effect on a boy's mind Feeling about Rosas A bird poem or tale Vain search for lost poem and story of its authorship The Dictator's daughter Time, the old god.
In the dog-days!" "She doesn't seem to have anywhere special to go to." "Oh!" Isaacson opened a book, and laid his hand upon a page. It happened to be a book on poisons and their treatment. He smoothed the page down mechanically and kept his hand there. "I say, Isaacson, you couldn't have the blood-lust?" "I hope not. I think not."
Other weapons flashed; the calm of the early morning was rent by the hoarse, guttural cries of men in the grip of the blood-lust, the sustained and venomous popping of pistols, the queer, sodden impact of lead against flesh, the terror-snorts of horses, and the grunts of men, falling heavily.
It reached the velvet hesitated passed through and just pierced my flesh then, was withdrawn. And, with that cut, came the blood-lust, like unto the rage of the berserker of old. Yet, somehow, I had the sense to stand quiet and let the red passion burn itself out. I would need all my coolness to meet Lotzen's skill. "Now, will monsieur remove his mask?" he asked.
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