"You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. "Read the first chapter of Job"; beyond that, nothing. Their flitting hands were always touching. "Now—begin. 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. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow.
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