"They know the Prince won't ride them any more. Horses feel things like that just as the Prince feels parting with them."
Tom Russell, the stud groom of Edward of Wales's stable stood at one side of the straw-covered arena of the Leicester House Repository at Melton Mowbray in the heart of England's hunting country. Rain was drumming on the roof and a dozen policemen strove to hold back the crowd. Inside the rows of boxes around the ring were jammed to suffocation and smartly dressed women clung perilously to railings. The Prince of...
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