Anything that smells like this, if it had any sense at all, should run.
“A Western Union boy came up and handed me a telegram. It was from Mrs. Smith: ‘Don’t ride, get best professional possible,’ signed, ‘Mildred.'”
The race itself started well, but ended badly for Harry.
When did he transcribe his fear that all he had done, contemplated, worked for and completed would go unnoticed, or worse, forgotten?