“And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. My little maidservant will think that I am lost. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. 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. As if it were she, and not Melusine, who had been hurt by the imposters.
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