She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. 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. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. You have been her guardian angel. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. Over here a man quickly loses faith, and I find myself back on solid ground once more. ‘Cover her, men.
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