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. The shouts of indignation—the frightful yells now raised baffle description. ’ Saling coughed. She lied. Your husband could have told you that. Wily little devil she is. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. But the sheer immensity of the tract! James Boyle was certainly up against it, hard. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive.
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