“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. 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. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. "Mistress!" said the apprentice, making a final appeal to Mrs. There is worse to come.
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