Old Bedlam. Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. 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. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. “Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart.
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