She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Strange, I could never learn her history. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. The characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. ’ ‘Yes, she will.
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