His mane flowed away behind him like the crest of a wind-fighting wave, torn seaward in hoary spray, and the whisk of his tail kept blinding the eye of the moon.

Nineteen hands he seemed, huge of bone, tight of skin, hard of muscle--a steed the holy Death himself might choose on which to ride abroad and slay! The moon seemed to regard him with awe; in her scary light he looked a very skeleton, loosely roped together.

Terrifically large, he moved with the lightness of a winged insect.

As he drew near, his speed slackened, and his mane and tail drifted about him settling.
Now I was not merely a lover of horses, but I loved every horse I saw.
I had never spent money except upon horses, and had never sold a horse.
The sight of this mighty one, terrible to look at, woke in me longing to possess him.

It was pure greed, nay, rank covetousness, an evil thing in all the worlds.