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. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. She laid her hand upon his arm. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuMjIxLjE5MSAtIDE3LTA2LTIwMjQgMTA6MTE6MjUgLSAxMjUyNzczMjQ0
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