In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. . ’ The couple on the sofa stared at her blankly. He savored the last solo, the coda. 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. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt.
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