” The official had no more to say. A few seasons went by where he initiated her into the disgusting rituals of killing and eating human beings, a dark time where she pined for a rescuer who never arrived. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. 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 had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. ” TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-text has been transcribed was inconsistent. ‘At this present, I must appropriate Lady Bicknacre. Well, he was executed for murder.
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