The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. To Capes he was almost deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, never.
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