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Thoroughbreds by W. A. Fraser
page 41 of 427 (09%)
"I did; but it was a plant."

"Then you'll take him, father. People say that John Porter's word is as
good as his bond; and that sounds sweeter in my ears than if I were to
hear them say that you were rich, or clever, or almost anything."

"Lauzanne gets it!" called the eager grating voice behind them. "There
go the numbers, Ned--three, five, ten; Lauzanne, The Dutchman, Lucretia.
I knew it. Dick don't make no mistakes when he's out for blood."

"He drew it a bit fine that time," growled Ned, still in opposition; "it
was the closest sort of a shave."

"Hurrah, Lauzanne!"

Again there was more hurrying of feet as the Chestnut's backers who had
waited in the stand for the Judge's decision, hurried down to the gold
mart.

"You'll take Lauzanne, father," Allis said, when the tumult had stilled;
"it will come out right somehow--I know it will--he'll win again."

John Porter stood irresolutely for a minute, not answering the girl, as
though he were loath to go close to the contaminating influence that
seemed part and parcel of Lauzanne, and which was stretching out to
envelop him. He was thinking moodily that he had played against a man
who used loaded dice, and had lost through his own rashness. He had
staked so much on the race that the loss would cut cripplingly into his
affairs.

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