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. " While Mr. You are too kind. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. “Mr. He felt her observance and warmed to it. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. Later on—well then the time may come.
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