. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. 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. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. . "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. ” “Why?” asked Hetty.
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