She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. 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. She had omitted that the flu had been called the Black Death and that it was a dead child that had been inside that womb, so many hundreds of years ago. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. I hated him. I keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone. And, dragging Mrs.
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