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’ ‘Who, Joan, who? Of whom do you speak?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll.
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