Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. 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 very clear statement, madam,” he said. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made.
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