There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. stare. 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. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes.
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