"Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. 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. ’ ‘Ah yes.
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