'
Then there was a pause.
'But why does he do it?' cried Ursula, 'why does he? Does he think he's
grand, when he's bullied a sensitive creature, ten times as sensitive
as himself?'
Again there was a cautious pause. Then again the man shook his head, as
if he would say nothing, but would think the more.
'I expect he's got to train the mare to stand to anything,' he replied.
'A pure-bred Harab--not the sort of breed as is used to round
here--different sort from our sort altogether. They say as he got her
from Constantinople.'
'He would!' said Ursula. 'He'd better have left her to the Turks, I'm
sure they would have had more decency towards her.'
The man went in to drink his can of tea, the girls went on down the
lane, that was deep in soft black dust. Gudrun was as if numbed in her
mind by the sense of indomitable soft weight of the man, bearing down
into the living body of the horse: the strong, indomitable thighs of
the blond man clenching the palpitating body of the mare into pure
control; a sort of soft white magnetic domination from the loins and
thighs and calves, enclosing and encompassing the mare heavily into
unutterable subordination, soft blood-subordination, terrible.
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