He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. Imbecile. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. ” She said, searching for her brassiere under his bed. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. . In the struggle her cap fell off. . It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. She looked at her for a moment fixedly.
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