A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. Courtlaw rose to his feet. He flipped the television on. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “I like your brother better than any other man I know,” Anna said at last. ’ He sighed. 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. “She means to go.
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