h the stand of some enraged British Field Sports ladies, who were putting green rubber trousers into cardboard boxes. He couldn’t be coming; it was 10. “I’ve given up candy for Lent. ”“But he can’t have,” whispered Fen.
As she stood on the highest middle step of the podium, Fen was still smaller than Carol Kennedy. His face was expressionless. She was only six, but every day Jake became more convinced that she had the makings of a great show jumper. But as it was so long since he had won anything, he’d forgotten which was the last set of clothes that worked.
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