crowd--that kaleidoscope of the humanities which congregate but do not blend; which coagulate wherever the trial of science, speed, and stamina serves as an excuse for putting fortune to the test.
It was a cynical crowd, a quiet crowd, a sullen crowd. Those who had won, through sheer luck, bottled their joy until they could give it vent in a safer atmosphere--one not so resentful. For it had been a hard day for the field. The favorite beaten in the stretch, choked off, outside the money----
Garrison gasped as the rushing simulacra of the Carter Handicap surged to his beating brain; that brain at bursting pressure. It had recorded so many things--recorded faithfully so many, many things he would give anything to forget.
He was choking, smothering--smothering with shame, hopelessness, despair. He must get away; get away to breathe, to think; get away out of it all; get away anywhere--oblivion.
To the jibes, the sneers flung at him, the innuendos, the open