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Updated: June 11, 2025
One day the mailman left a large handbill, anouncing the Spring race-meeting at Kiley's, a festival sacred, as a rule, to the Doyles and the Donohoes, at which no outsider had any earthly chance of winning a race. In William Grant's time the handbill would have soon reached the fire-place; he did not countenance running station horses at the local meetings.
"There's nothing wrong about him," he said, "only his mother was one of the Donohoes not a lady, you know and he always goes with those people; and, of course, that means he doesn't go much with us." "Why not?" "Well, you see, they're selectors, and they look on the station people as well, rather against them, you know sort of enemies and he has never come to the station.
"We only got your father's letter to-day, or I would have been down to meet you. I hope you are not hurt. Jump into the trap, and I'll run down to the Donohoes', and get you some dry things." Then, turning to Blake, he said somewhat stiffly, "Will you get in, Mr. Blake?" "Thanks," said Blake, equally stiffly, "I can ride one of the mail horses. It's no distance. I wont trouble you."
But it was whispered here and muttered there among the Doyles and the Donohoes and their friends and relations, that old Billy the Bully, on one of his visits to the interior, had been married to this undesirable lady by a duly accredited parson, in the presence of responsible witnesses; and that, when everyone had their own, Carrotty Peg, if alive, would be the lady of Kuryong.
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