'What the hell do your opinions matter? You are a thick-headed boor of the veld ... Not but what,' he added, 'there is metal in you slow Dutchmen once we Germans have had the forging of it!' 'I am not merciful,' he went on, as if I needed telling that. 'If any man stands in my way I trample the life out of him. That is the German fashion. That is what has made us great. We do not make war with lavender gloves and fine phrases, but with hard steel and hard brains. We Germans will cure the green-sickness of the world. The nations rise against us. Pouf! They are soft flesh, and flesh cannot resist iron. The shining ploughshare will cut its way through acres of mud.'
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