I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. You did not learn that in a convent. And her mother, looking unusually alert and hectic, wore cream and brown also, made up in a more complicated manner.
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