She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. "Oh! you men! you men! Once get a thing into your head, and nothing will beat it out. 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. “Yes, I know. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. “Cool.
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