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The Race is not to the Swift by FRED C H LOVEMORE (Espin, 1947)

Behind me I hear the fateful footsteps, the heavy breathing, the sound of someone in strained labour, approaching like a doom, and I cannot escape the awful sound. A form manifests beside me. Momentarily, we hang side by side. The wraith beside me moves relentlessly ahead … and I am relegated to the lower station.
Then the beloved face, and her voice: ‘Second place in the race but first among the elect, for this race is not to the swift.’ To order a copy CLICK HERE

The Race is not to the Swift