Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Wait a second. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. 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. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. " Mr.
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