What on earth was he about to come in by himself like that?
We shan't get into the 'City' now under nine stone.

It's enough to make a man cry!" And, looking at his trainer, George saw the little man's lips quiver.
In his stall, streaked with sweat, his hind-legs outstretched, fretting under the ministrations of the groom, the Ambler stayed the whisking of his head to look at his owner, and once more George met that long, proud, soft glance.

He laid his gloved hand on the horse's lather-flecked neck.

The Ambler tossed his head and turned it away.
George came out into the open, and made his way towards the Stand.

His trainer's words had instilled a drop of poison into his cup.