"After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. He was a business man, pure and simple, his eyes were fastened always upon the practical side of life. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. 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. All they left it was the moon and stars. ‘I am not a fool. ” “But will you?” “YES.
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