Momo stared at it, fascinated. After a while she put out her hand and touched it.
Instantly, the doll blinked a couple of times, opened its rosebud mouth,
and said, in a metallic voice that sounded as if it were issuing from a telephone, “Hello, I'm Lola, the Living Doll.”
Momo jumped back in alarm. Then, automatically, she replied, “Hello, I'm Momo.”
The doll's lips moved again. “I belong to you,” it said. “All the other kids envy you because I'm yours.”
“You aren't mine,” Momo said. “Someone must have left you here by mistake.” She picked the doll up.
Again the lips moved. “I'd like some nice new things,” said the metallic voice.
“Would you?” Momo thought for a moment. “I doubt if I've got anything you'd care for, but you're welcome to look.”
Still holding the doll, Momo clambered through the hole in the wall that led to her underground room.
All her most treasured possessions were in a box beneath the bed. She pulled it out and lifted the lid.
“Here,” she said, “this is all I've got. If you'd like anything, just tell me.”
And she showed the doll a colourful bird's feather, a pebble with pretty streaks in it, a brass button and a fragment of coloured glass.
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