She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. 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 is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window.
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