"
"Well, well," said Willet rubbing his veiny nose.
He considered the horse unworthy of any distinction, but in his
desire to please Geth, took pains to prepare Cuddy for his death and
burial. Gething was still at the big house although it was four
o'clock and the men on Break-Neck Hill were busy with their digging.
Willet called them the sextons.
"And we, Joey," he addressed a stable boy, "we're the undertakers.
Handsome corpse, what?" Cuddy stood in the centre of the barn floor
fastened to be groomed. He was handsome, built on the cleanest lines
of speed and strength, lean as an anatomical study, perfect for his
type. The depth of chest made his legs, neck, and head look fragile.
His face was unusually beautiful--the white-starred face which had
been before Geth's eyes as he had sat in Holly Park. His pricked
ears strained to hear, his eyes to see. The men working over him
were beneath his notice.
"Look at him," complained Joey, "he pays no more attention to us
than as if we weren't here." Cuddy usually kicked during grooming,
but his present indifference was more insulting.
"Huh!" said Willet. "he knows them sextons went to Break-Neck to
dig the grave for him. Don't yer, Devil? Say, Joey, look at him
listening like he was counting the number of spadefuls it takes to
make a horse's grave.
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