She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. He looked at her guiltily. David Courtlaw. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. 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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