You'd think he hadn't any more nerves than a bit of granite.

Yet he's got a skin as sensitive as a girl's.

See how he quivers if I run the curry comb too harshly over him.
The idiot I got him from didn't know what was the matter with him.

He'd bought him for a reliable horse, and there he was, kicking and stamping whenever the boy went near him.

'Your boy's got too heavy a hand, Deacon Jones,' said I, when he described the horse's actions to me.