"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. CHAPTER II. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day.
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