Every living thing/All around the town/Colony/Death penalty [antikvár]

Cfiapter 1 /AM never at my best in the early morning, especially the cold mornings you get in the Yorkshire spring, with a piercing March wind sweeping down from the fells, finding its way inside my clothing, nipping at my nose and ears. It was a cheerless time, and a particularly bad time to be standing in this cobbled farmyard watching a beautiful horse dying because of my incompetence. It had started at eight o'clock. Mr. Kettlewell telephoned as I was finishing my breakfast. "I 'ave a fine big cart 'oss here, and he's come out in spots." "Oh, really What kind of spots?" "Well, round and flat, and they're all over 'im." "And it started quite suddenly?" "Aye. He were right as rain last night." "All right. I'll have a look at him right away." I nearly rubbed my hands. Urticaria. It usually cleared up spontaneously, but an injection hastened the process, and I had a new antihistamine drug to try out—it was said to be specific for this sort of thing. Anyway, it was the kind of situation where it was easy for the vet to look good. A nice start to the day. In the '50s the tractor had taken over most of the work on the farms, but there was still a fair number of draft horses around, and when I arrived at Mr. Kettlewefl's place, I realized that this one was something special. The farmer was leading him into the cobblestone yard—a mag-