‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. 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. . With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house.
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