If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile. 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. “No, stay, Lucy. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly.
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