She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. “You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. ” He crossed himself and grinned. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. 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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