“Just supposing she does win,” Milston speculated about the gray horse Anna was combing.
“I do suppose that and more,” Anna replied. She was angered with the young man’s persistent negative innuendoes. Oh, he was handsome enough, educated, his breeding was of the finest in all the Finger Lakes. Anna was not of this ilk. She was farm hardened one might say, as tall as Milston and probably stronger. And razor tempered.
“I’ll make you a personal wager,” Milston stated.
Anna turned to square off at that remark.
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