Harold eyed the long row of stalls nervously. The air smelled of wet horse and manure and the acrid sting of old urine. "What are we doing here?" he said, pulling off his gloves.
"Stealing Freedom," said Jasfoup. "Now hush, and put your gloves back on."
"But freedom is a concept," said Harold. "You can't steal freedom. You can steal the freedom of an individual by depriving him of his rights. You can even steal the freedom of a nation or an ethnic group, but you can't steal Freedom."
"You can when it's a racehorse," said Jasfoup, "and a lot of people are going to be very unhappy when it disappears."
"What will you do with it?"
"Send it to a farm where it can live out its life playing with butterflies," said Jasfoup.
The demon counted to ten. "Sure."