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. CHAPTER I. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale.
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