“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. I’m not ashamed—of the things I’m doing. But no one could explain the disappearance of Michelle’s parents, nor could the police find a fingerprint or even a clothing fiber to trace what had happened to them. Then you have altered not only that, but your manner of dressing it.
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