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 saw their boat swept away, and heard the roar of the fall beneath the bridge; and no one, who was present, could doubt the result. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. She finished the olive and looked up. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. His looks were fixed on his old benefactor.
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