"We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach your destination. 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. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order.
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