"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. It was impulsive and natural. No window. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. Pistols and pictures? Now it fair goes agin’ me nature to act rough with a lady, but you’ll come along of me at once. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. 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.
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