Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. ’ ‘Don’t you believe it. 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. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. I may as well think.
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