Krissy, who seemed to be the leader of this girl-clique, spoke most authoritatively, "What's your name, frosh?" Victor's my name and I have no idea wh...t's going on. Why are you girls targeting us younger boys and taking our clothes?'"Victor is it?" quipped Krissy. "Victor, you're a loser. You lost dignity and honor by breaking the rules of White Wear Week." White Wear Week? What's that?" asked a panicking Victor as yet another girl was undoing the belt on his pants. "Wait! Stop! You can't take. Mortimer Crippen was a most unlikely looking psychiatrist. I had expected a bearded, Middle European sounding gent in a grey suit, wearing pince nez spectacles and a worried air. But Crippen was a large, second row forward of a man, wearing a Harlequin's Rugby Club jersey, and a pair of moleskin trousers held up by a leather belt. I could imagine him having a ferret stuffed down a trousers leg. His ruddy square face was sprinkled with freckles, and his blue eyes twinkled with mischief. Flaming. More

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