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Updated: June 4, 2025
In this particular race we are concerned with but two owners, one of whom told the truth. Weaver, rat-eyed and furtive, answered all questions freely almost too freely. "Ye-es, she's a right nice little mare, but they've weighted her out of it to-day. She can't pack a hundred and fifteen and win.... That much lead will stop a stake horse. Better stay off her to-day. Some other time."
They had been together for three years when they came to the Jungle Circuit Pitkin rat-eyed, furtive, mysterious as a crow, and scheming always for his own pocket; Uncle Gabe quiet, efficient, inclined to be religious, knowing his place and keeping it and attending strictly to business, namely, the conditioning of the Pitkin horses for the track.
Tears were streaming and leaving their ravages on the smooth surface of her cheeks. "I just wish I I was dead." "Aw, no, you don't! There's him now, with a horn on his auto that makes a noise like the devil yelling! There's your little rat-eyed, low-lived fellow, now. You don't wish you was dead now, do you? Go to him and his two divorces and his little roundhead.
A gratuitous command, for the three-legged pole-cat referred to had no other ambition than to shuffle wearily along behind the wagon in the hope that somewhere ahead was good grazing, water, and chance shade. The trader was lean, rat-eyed, and of a vicious temper. Comparatively, the worst horse in his string was a gentleman.
There's a glory in being chosen to bear your country's wounds." "Your beautiful eyes! Your blue, beautiful eyes! O God, what does it all mean? Living! Dying! All the rotters, all the rat-eyed ones I know, scot-free and Gerald chosen. God! God! where are you?" "He was never so close to me as now, Hester. And with you here, dear, He is closer than ever."
"Ha! ha! you joke sir!" laughed the Auctioneer, rubbing his hands in his most jovial manner, "you joke! I can't see you, but you joke of course, and I laugh accordingly, ha! ha! Thirty shillings for eight, fine, antique, tapestried, hand-carved chairs, Oh very good, excellent, upon my soul!" "Three pound!" said the fiery-necked Corn-chandler. "Guineas!" said the rat-eyed Parsons.
It is certain he arrived well at Buonconvento near Sienna, on the 24th September, 1313, in full march towards the rebellious King of Naples, whom the Pope much countenanced. Poisoned in the wine of his sacrament: the Florentines, it is said, were at the bottom of it, and had hired the rat-eyed Dominican; "O Italia, O Firenze!"
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