Explore "The Sporting Chance" by Claude Askew on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I don't hate you!" Rada's letter began quite abruptly. "Indeed I don't, Mr. Clithero, and I was a little beast to say I did, and I am writing to you now because my conscience pricks me. You were very good -- awfully good -- to me about Castor, and I am grateful to you, I really am. I know how you insisted on giving the colt back to my father, and the terms you exacted from him. I don't believe you bought Castor out of any malice towards me, and I only said so because I was in a temper and couldn't control my tongue. Then you would insist upon my being an angel, a paragon of virtue, when I was feeling myself a wicked little devil -- and that was silly of you, you know -- you ought to understand women better.
"But I feel I want to be friends with you, Mr. Clithero, and that is why I am writing. I haven't got so many that I can afford to part with one. We are rivals in a way, and since I have got Castor back, I do think I stand the best chance of winning the Derby first. As far as that part of our bet goes -- since you will insist upon looking at it as a bet -- I have the advantage. But, then, it wasn't fair to you from the start. I spoke, knowing that I had got Castor, while you didn't even know that I had registered my colours. That was just like me, so I won't attempt to excuse myself.