He stabbed into her with brute force. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. 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. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it.
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