“Good evening, Dorling,” he said. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. 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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