"Yes, loves, Winny. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. There was no answer. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser. She crooked her finger. 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.
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