There was a flush in his cheeks, too, and a spark of fire in his eyes.

In his heart Father Roland whispered to himself that this change in David was like a conflagration, and he rejoiced without speaking, fearing that words might quench the effect of it.
David was looking at him as if he expected an answer.
"What an accursed fool a man is to waste his soul and voice in lamentation--especially his voice," he went on harshly, his teeth gleaming for an instant in a bitter smile.

"One ought to act and not whine.

That beast back there is ready to act.

He would tear Thoreau's jugular out if he had half a chance.