And while the weary, panting men, sides hollowing out deeply with each breath, exhausted themselves in the pangs of the final push, flames devouring the air, the whole shadowy world of machines seemed to race faster, mocking the creature's fading strength. Yet puddlers, drivers, rollers, grapplers and feeders all battled the crushing sun and growing lassitude leagued against them. They took turns plunging their head and shoulders into vats of water near the openings, deathly pale under the vermeil daylight, their skin mottled pink by the scorching blasts of the furnaces. Throats rattled, breathing was labored and a hot stink of moist flesh, like the stench of bodies in a hospital, mixed with the odors of grease, fossil coal and oil that saturated the air.

Excerpt from "Crucible of Flesh" by Camille Lemonnier, 1886