Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. We're two good-looking fellows, ain't we?" "Very good-looking," replied Rachel. 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. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. A large body of the constables of Westminster next made their appearance, the chief of whom entered the Lodge, where they were speedily joined by the civic authorities.
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