The old shriveled-up child with his long, hard, dead face seemed to breath flame.

And in a fit of furious audacity and triumphant will he put his heart into the filly, held her up, lifted her forward, drenched in foam, with eyes of blood.

The whole rush of horses passed with a roar of thunder: it took away people's breaths; it swept the air with it while the judge sat frigidly waiting, his eye adjusted to its task.

Then there was an immense re-echoing burst of acclamation.

With a supreme effort Price had just flung Nana past the post, thus beating Spirit by a head.
There was an uproar as of a rising tide.