I suspect he has a bit of vanity. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. 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. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. Look at me. Capes most trying. Spurling.
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