« As a distraction we organized a fiacre rice. Four partners in four fiacres. A prize of five hundred francs. Down the Champs-Elysées bound for the Ritz-bar, about a mile in all. At the Concorde the four hacks were well grouped and it was not until after the Rue de Rivoli that Joan and I were defeated in the final sprint by half a length, the others trailing behind. Brandy for the coachmen, cocktails for ourselves and a brimming bowl of Champagne for the broken-down Marguerite. To make of life a race; to “run the straight race through the Sun’s good grace”. »
Harry Crosby |