"I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. ” Lucy instructed. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew. 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.
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