I can see it now when you make your first million. "You'll probably end up being a banker, F. "The deal when we started hunting with Jefferson Hunt was that each time one of us swore, one dollar to the kitty. "No, we're not." Felicity rarely ran off the rails, her focus intense. "You two are ganging up on me." Val tossed her head her blonde ponytail, in a snood for riding, swayed slightly. "Val, we're next to Broad Creek," Tootie deadpanned. "Felicity, how can you think of the kitty at a time like this? We could be lost for days. "One dollar, potty mouth." Felicity held out her hand with grim satisfaction. If we turn right at that jump we'll find the farm road back to the kennels."Īngry that she hadn't paid attention at the jump to where the rest of the riders disappeared into the fog, and now angry that she hadn't paid attention to the flow of Broad Creek, Valentina growled, "Well, shit, Tootie, we could go into menopause before we reach the hog's back jump!" If we keep going we'll eventually reach the big old hog's back jump in the fence line. It divides the Prescott land from Sister Jane's land. "If we move away from the creek, we'll hear better." Valentina, as senior class president, was accustomed to taking charge.Īnne "Tootie" Harris, one of the best students at Custis Hall, was just as accustomed to resisting Valentina's assumed authority. "Can you hear anything?" Felicity Porter, slender, serious, inquired. Smooth gray stones jutted out of the creek, the water swirling and splashing around. They stopped to listen for hounds and the horn. "Looks like a giant witch," Valentina Smith blurted out. A gnarled tree, bending toward the clear water as if to bathe its branches, startled them. Three young women, students at prestigious Custis Hall, followed the creek bed that bordered a cut hayfield. The notes of the huntsman's horn, muffled, made his direction difficult to determine. "synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.Ī shining silver shroud covered the lowlands along Broad Creek, deep and swift-running. The Hunt Ball combines a rounded, welcoming world with an edge of unforgettable white-knuckled menace. No one understands human and animal nature more deeply. No one has created a fictional paradise more delightful than the rolling hills of Rita Mae Brown’s Virginia countryside, or has more charmingly captured the rituals of the hunt. The chase is on, not only for foxes but also for a deadly human predator. Aided and abetted by foxes and owls, cats and hounds, Sister picks up a scent that leads her in a most unwelcome direction: straight to the heart of the foxhunting crowd. Everyone liked Al Perez, or so it seemed, yet his murder was particularly unpleasant.Įven “Sister” Jane Arnold, master of the Jefferson Hunt Club, beloved by man and beast, is at a loss, although she knows better than anyone where the bodies are buried in this community of land-grant families and new-money settlers. But when one of the two hanging corpses ornamenting the students’ Halloween dance turns out to be real–the body of the school’s talented fund-raiser, in fact–Charlotte and the entire community are stunned. At first, the outcry is a mere tempest in a silver teapot–a small group of students protesting the school’s exhibit of antique household objects crafted by slaves–and headmistress Charlotte Norton quells the ruckus easily. The trouble begins at Custis Hall, an exclusive girls’ school in Virginia that has gloried in its good name for nearly two hundred years. In The Hunt Ball, the latest novel in this popular series, all the ingredients Brown’s readers love are abundantly present: richness of character and landscape, the thrill of the hunt, and the chill of violence. redemption, greed and nobility,” raved the San Jose Mercury News about Outfoxed, Rita Mae Brown’s first foxhunting masterpiece.
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