“What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river. You cannot refuse me this. 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. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like.
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