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. "Not my king's," returned Wood. She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. ’ ‘Eh bien, it is your fault entirely in this case. ” “I didn’t mind that little argument. .
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