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. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. ” Part 3 Her mind got back to the Fadden Ball.
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