It would be all trick work then, not riding.
As she slid out of her habit and into the ugly ballet-skirts she
loathed, her courage vanished and she trembled as she faced the
audience for the second time, transformed in white satin and pale blue,
the thinness of her neck and arms painfully apparent.
The flying rush through the air as she jumped the hurdles and gates
made her feel horribly dazed and giddy, and unable to collect her
senses in time for the next leap. As she descended lightly in her
heelless silk slippers upon Don Juan's back after the fourth hurdle had
been passed, she swayed and only by a violent effort recovered herself.
Her heart seemed to be beating right up in her throat and choking her.
She put up one hand and pulled at her turquoise collar till the clasp
gave way and thrust the blue stones into the low-cut bodice. The band
sounded louder than ever, the light danced and waved. Round and round
and round again, while the ring-master's whip cracked monotonously.
The rhythm of the waltz beat in her brain as the music in some
delirious dream.
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