" "Arrested!" exclaimed Trenchard, drawing his sword. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. "Where is my mother?" he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. 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 simply refuses to see or hear from me again. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat.
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