I'll dig it up. 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. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. I cannot let you go. Play foul, and win.
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