The Fire in the Flint by Walter White

Kenneth did not see the dark forms that crouched like tigers in the shrubbery on either side of the long walk that led to the gate. But as he reached the ground, he turned just in time to see a shadowy body hurl itself upon him. Instinctively his right arm shot outwards and upwards. His clenched fist met flush on the point of the jaw the man who had attempted to hurl him to the ground. His would-be assailant gave a deep grunt and fell to the ground at Kenneth's feet.

Before he hit the ground, however, Kenneth found himself surrounded by a cursing, howling crowd. He lashed out blindly -- hitting wherever he saw what seemed to be a form. Madly, desperately, gloriously he fought! For a time he was more than a match for the fifteen that assailed him. He did not know that they had expected to take him by surprise. The surprise was now theirs. He heard a voice shout at him in rage: "Sleepin' with a white woman, eh! You dirty black bastard! " With superhuman strength born of hatred, bitterness, and despair, he lunged at the speaker. Almost at the same time that his fist landed in the man's face, his foot went into his stomach with a vengeance. He put into the blow and the kick all the repressed hatred and passion the day's revelations had brought forth.