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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 17 would be equally fine if Limey were her great-grandfather And if she had a human father. He lay quietly thinking of acts of love, till half-asleep he was troubled by a certain catch to footfalls on the back stair; in an old nightshirt he followed down along a Magritte-surrealism of doors to glimpse in past a dressing-screen of a lady's room, at the Old Timer's pants on a nail. February came with him to Miami. Past the Orange Bowl they cut across Northwest Sixteenth. Little Havana. On blocked wooden heels, the caballeros walked their peppery women. Across the Miami Canal the dressed granite wall and royal palms of Hialeah came into view. They parked a mile away, as you sometimes have to do there, and took the shortcut through the stables. "There's one horse in these barns I'm looking for, the last of the Bold Ruler colts; I heard he's training here. . "Dorian you seem to know something about this. . "Oh well. Sport of kings, and all that. I went regular to the summer sales at Keeneland. It was maybe what Damon Runyan said about rubbing up against money. The Claiborne people let me feed that colt an apple: I remember that blue light, Kentucky dawn; that night |
