“What happened that night in December?” “She’d gone downstairs to the phone, and attacked me with a pair of scissors when she saw me. The idiot. I still carry the scar,” Carolyn said, and Minerva looked at her fingers upon the wheel and the ugly line that ran down the back of her right hand. “Then she ran off into the snow. My father was waiting outside. We both chased her and caught up with her.” That meant the blood in the snow had been Carolyn’s. She must have hidden her wounded hand under elegant gloves or warm mittens immediately after the incident. After winter break, the hand would have
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