’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. "I would sacrifice all my fortune—all my hopes —to liberate him. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. 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. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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