She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. She was not Madame Melusine Valade. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. "I've spoken. He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom. It could not be she who had done this.
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