"What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly. "I'm surprised you've not asked that question before, Sir Rowland. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. Never had her father explained. And it hampers us. My nerves are shaken. 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.
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