Ivor came in so elated by his first round success that he only knocked up eight faults. Already half the show-jumping groupies, who hung around the place in breeches hoping someone might mistake them for a competitor, had followed suit and lopped off their long rippling manes as well. Jake strolled across the yard. “Bring me a jug of orange juice, please.
”“Oh dear,” said Helen, blushing. The crowd crossed their fingers in case he stepped back which would have constituted a stop, costing Billy three faults, but he popped “Jesus, he can really jump,” said Billy. “That stupid idiot, Billy, sloped off this morning with Rupert to have another crack at bull-fighting and got himself knocked out cold ‘ Tracey gave a wail and dropped her comb.
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