“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” said Dino. A doctor was summoned and gave him pills and advised forty-eight hours’ rest. So they can spend all day washing their hair and waxing their legs and thinking about paintwork and getting your underpants whiter than ever. “He died of a brain tumour.
“He’s dying to beat the hell out of that horse,” said Jake to himself. Christ, Rupe, you’re actually blushing. After they’d gone, Tory tried to pull herself together and get down to making green tomato chutney. Jake was saved by his host, Albie, an English expatriate mad about show-jumping, who seemed to know every horse Jake had ever owned.
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