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She trembled; but she did not know why. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. 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. He tried again. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. “Oh, it is okay. But when she learns that you are a fugitive from justice….
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