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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. A sinister thought edged in. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. At the same time Sydney and Brendon also vacated their places. You see—I didn’t understand. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. .
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