The Lost Girl

“Why didn’t you want me to have that doll up there?”

He grumbled into the hollow globe of his teacup. “It’s morbid, that’s all.”

“How so?”

The anger crept into his voice. “Because it’s the doll of a dead child. And it was used at the inquest.”

I pounced on a single word he had chosen. “Dead? You’re assuming she’s dead then?”

“Of course she’s dead. We held a funeral.”

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