They whack-whacked the white horse on the legs and he kneed himself up. The picador twisted the stirrups straight and pulled and hauled up into the saddle. The horse’s entrails hung down in a blue bunch and swung backward and forward as he began to canter the monos whacking him on the back of his legs with the rods. He entered jerkily along the barrera.
Ernest Hemingway, “In Our Time” (New York, 2003), 89.
Notes; This is very similar to the passage we discussed in class. It is equally disturbing and ambiguous.