Buddy ran down the road, turned into another street, and vanished as if he had never been there, like another ghost from New Orleans’s past.

We’ve worn him out, son. Keep on him. He’s ours for the catchin’.

I’ve lived in this world a long time, and you can’t change what you like, even if you’d want to.

The carriage could only clop along at about ten miles per hour, which only accentuated Imogene’s excitement. She urged it onward: “Fly, horse, fly!