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Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. “You mean to follow her. Rich folks, once. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. It’s a mismatch. 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. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others.
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