In the direction of the distant Meuse, the opposite slope, in the gaps between the trees, whitened vaguely with a sort of momentary false dawn, a silky palpitation of soft, sluggish flashes, like the great bubbles of light that regularly burst over valleys of blast furnaces: these gleams were the concrete casemates being constructed on accelerated schedules, poured at night under arc lights.

Julien Gracq, Balcony in the Forest, loc. 66