At last, Malina broke the silence for him. ‘That doll . . . you know, then, that I had one just like it. I found it just days after my mother disappeared.’ She paused to attempt to gain some control over her emotions, but found herself unable to keep an accusing note out of her voice. ‘Does this mean also that you know something of the fate of my mother? For it seems to me no small coincidence that you would react so, when confronted with a mere child’s toy.’

Pran struggled vainly with his rising grief, but was soon unable to contain his emotion any longer. To Malina’s amazement, he sat down unsteadily, put his head in his hands, and wept.

‘Oh, Malina . . . there is so much that I must tell you!’

Brokenly, he told her of that fateful time, years ago . . . of his leaving home . . . of the hunting party . . . of the unspeakable act that had so horribly scarred both her life and his own. When he came to the end of his tale, describing her mother’s tragic end, Malina cried out in disbelief and fell to her knees, keening with incoherent grief and outrage, wracked with broken sobs that did nothing to assuage her emotional pain.




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