Curses light on the horse!" he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; "what can ail him?" "I know what ails him, your honour," rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; "he's seen somethin' not o' this world. It will take a month to clean up. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. They sucked face and felt each other up, or something. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again.
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