. " "I am a thief, nevertheless. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. Softly she rose to her feet. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. Her belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. 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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