"I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. And I’m afraid. 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. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow.
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