She felt much better. My Mom’s stomach has a lot of bad scars that make it look all ropy and weird. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. “Not at all. But not so much a pig as that man. 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. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion.
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