” Brendon rushed to the piano and strummed out a tune. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. Look at me, and answer me one question. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. 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.
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