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LORD
HASTINGS
LORD
HASTINGS: Do you mean to ride that black stallion of yours
in the Queen’s Race in September, Hawk?
JORDAN:
I’ll ride one of my horses in it.
LORD
HASTINGS: Knew you would. My money’s on you, if you
decide to ride Satan.
JORDAN:
Aren’t you entering it?
LORD
HASTINGS: Naturally. But if you ride that black brute, I’m
betting on you, not me. He’s the fastest devil I’ve ever
seen.
JORDAN:
You’ve seen the black run?
LORD
HASTINGS: Indeed! Saw your wife race him in –
FAIRFAX:
She . . . er . . . handled him quite well and didn’t press
him too hard, Hawk
LORD
HASTINGS: I’m sure your duchess is merely high-spirited,
Hawk.
FAIRFAX:
High spirits, that’s all it is. Tighten her rein just a
bid and she’ll be docile as a lamb.
LORD
HASTINGS: Docile as a lamb (he concurred promptly).
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