"Good night. 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. " "That's but a short distance from here, sir. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. You've never seen a typhoon, have you?" "No. His brain reeled. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead.
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