"Why, it's a spen-nac-chie-ra!" the answer came in chorus. "A spen-nac-chie-ra!"
Giorgio laughed out loud. He moistened his finger tips and firmly pressed the bit of clay on the poll of the horse's head. "Let no fantino knock it off!" he spoke to the little image. "You win all by yourself, you hear?"
Already the seed of the Palio was bursting in its furrow.
