She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. 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 must see if I have a gown fit to wear. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald.
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