"Yes, yes." He was biting his nails and cursing the focusing arrangements of his field-glasses.
"They're off!"
The roar of the crowd was like a mighty storm within which isolated remarks were heard like the spars of a ship going one by one.
"She isn't finding it so easy."
"He's taking her into the rails too soon."
"My God! I wouldn't lay sixpence there won't be an objection for crossing. Did you see that?"
"Go on, Vanity Girl! Go on!"
"Go on, you blasted favorite!"
"She's swishing her tail."
"No, she's not. That's ... yes, it's her. Vanity Girl! Vanity Girl!"