"Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. 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 silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. He did not have to.
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