. Will you leave us for a few minutes?" "You are not going to be harsh?" "I wish to talk about the future. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. 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. The unpleasant oily chill of fever overtook her body, and she watched in horror as Sebastian carried her to his bed on his shoulder like a sack of flour.
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