She remained by the door until the walls of the city swallowed the bobbing lantern. I followed you home on the train. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. You're a queer lad. 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.
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