Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. 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. With a gesture which was without any kind of emotional expression, the manager indicated the silent crumpled figure on the floor and gave the room number. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment.
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