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The lights of London glitter nervously, sparkling with the same anticipation felt at the bottom of young lovers’ stomachs. Amongst all the tension, the moon’s tranquil confidence smiles down at the familiar scene, giving an air of romance to the musky London streets; she pities the lonely figures who find themselves walking behind a happy couple, but remains unable to console them being perched on her throne far above. 

On a particular night just like this, a girl of sixteen was dressing and her beau, who had arrived early was smoking his cigarette around the corner and firmly out of sight of her parents, with a rose hanging unceremoniously in his other hand. The girl’s mother was harassing her, ensuring her dress wasn’t too short, her shoes not high and any rouge was roughly removed with wipes. Mr. Big Ben struck seven and Ellen galloped undaintily downstairs to present herself to her mother, clumsily tripping slightly, caught up in all the excitement. She passed inspection and the silhouette of her man groomed larger in the opaque glass decorating the door. He rapped smartly upon the door and took a few steps back politely. Ellen’s mother opened the door and surveyed him, he played with the sleeves of his shirt nervously, at long last he seemed to pass her initial inspection and she stepped aside to reveal her daughter, satisfied at the slightly awed and terrified expression on his face.

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