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. Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. "My father!" she whispered. ” “Teddy,” said Ann Veronica, “you’re a dear!” “Oh, quite!” said Teddy, convulsively, and lifted an imaginary hat and left her. Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot.
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