I took McCann up with me to Ricori's bedside. Confrontation with his chief would be the supreme test, I
felt, resolving one way or another all my doubts as to his sincerity. For I realized, almost immediately, that
bizarre as had been the occurrences I have just narrated, each and all of them could have been a part of
the elaborate hocus-pocus with which I had tentatively charged the gunman. The cutting off of the doll's
head could have been a dramatic gesture designed to impress my imagination. It was he who had called
my attention to the sinister reputation of the knotted cord. It was McCann who had found the pin. His
fascination by the severed head might have been assumed. And the tossing of the match a calculated
action designed to destroy evidence. I did not feel that I could trust my own peculiar reactions as valid.
And yet it was difficult to credit McCann with being so consummate an actor, so subtle a plotter. Ah, but
he could be following the instructions of another mind capable of such subtleties. I wanted to trust
McCann. I hoped that he would pass the test. Very earnestly I hoped it.
The test was ordained to failure. Ricori was fully conscious, wide awake, his mind probably as alert and
sane as ever. But the lines of communication were still down. His mind had been freed, but not his body.
The paralysis persisted, forbidding any muscular movements except the deep-seated unconscious
reflexes essential to the continuance of life. He could not speak. His eyes looked up at me, bright and
intelligent, but from an expressionless face…looked up at McCann with the same unchanging stare.
McCann whispered: "Can he hear?"
"I think so, but he has no way of telling us."
The gunman knelt beside the bed and took Ricori's hands in his. He said, clearly: "Everything's all right,
boss. We're all on the job."
Not the utterance nor the behavior of a guilty man-but then I had told him Ricori could not answer. I
said to Ricori:
"You're coming through splendidly. You've had a severe shock, and I know the cause. I'd rather you
were this way for a day or so than able to move about. I have a perfectly good medical reason for this.
Don't worry, don't fret, try not to think of anything unpleasant. Let your mind relax. I'm going to give you
a mild hypo. Don't fight it. Let yourself sleep."
I gave him the hypodermic, and watched with satisfaction its quick effect. It convinced me that he had
I returned to my study with McCann. I was doing some hard thinking. There was no knowing how long
Ricori would remain in the grip of the paralysis. He might awaken in an hour fully restored, or it might
hold him for days. In the meantime there were three things I felt it necessary to ascertain. The first that a
thorough watch was being kept upon the place where Ricori had gotten the doll; second, that everything
possible be found out about the two women McCann had described; third, what it was that had made
Ricori go there. I had determined to take the gunman's story of the happenings at the store at their face
value-for the moment at least. At the same time, I did not want to admit him into my confidence any
more than was necessary.
"McCann," I began, "have you arranged to keep the doll store under constant surveillance, as we agreed
"You bet. A flea couldn't hop in or out without being spotted."
"The boys ringed the joint close to midnight. The front's all dark. There's a building in the back an' a
space between it an' the rear of the joint. There's a window with a heavy shutter, but a line of light shows
under it. About two o'clock this fish-white gal comes slipping up the street and lets in. The boys at the
back hear a hell of a squalling, an' then the light goes out. This morning the gal opens the shop. After a
while the hag shows up, too. They're covered, all right."
"What have you found out about them?"
"The hag calls herself Madame Mandilip. The gal's her niece. Or so she says. They rode in about eight
months since. Nobody knows where from. Pay their bills regular. Seem to have plenty of money. Niece
does all the marketing. The old woman never goes out. Keep to themselves like a pair of clams. Have
strictly nothing to do with the neighbors. The hag has a bunch of special customers-rich-looking people
many of them. Does two kinds of trade, it looks-regular dolls, an' what goes with 'em, an' special dolls
which they say the old woman's a wonder at. Neighbors ain't a bit fond of 'em. Some of 'em think she's
handling dope. That's all yet."
Special dolls? Rich people?
Rich people like the spinster Bailey, the banker Marshall?
Regular dolls-for people like the acrobat, the bricklayer? But these might have been "special" too, in
ways McCann could not know.
"There's the store," he continued. "Back of it two or three rooms. Upstairs a big room like a storeroom.
They rent the whole place. The hag an' the wench, they live in the rooms behind the store."
"Good work!" I applauded, and hesitated-"McCann, did the doll remind you of somebody?"
He studied me with narrowed eyes.
"You tell me," he said at last, dryly.
"Well-I thought it resembled Peters."
"Thought it resembled!" he exploded. "Resembled-hell! It was the lick-an'-spit of Peters!"
"Yet you said nothing to me of that. Why?" I asked, suspiciously.
"Well I'm damned-" he began, then caught himself. "I knowed you seen it. I thought you kept quiet
account of Shevlin, an' followed your lead. Afterwards you were so busy putting me through the jumps
there wasn't a chance."
"Whoever made that doll must have known Peters quite well." I passed over this dig. "Peters must have
sat for the doll as one sits for an artist or a sculptor. Why did he do it? When did he do it? Why did
anyone desire to make a doll like him?"
"Let me work on the hag for an hour an' I'll tell you," he answered, grimly.
"No," I shook my head. "Nothing of that sort until Ricori can talk. But maybe we can get some light in
another way. Ricori had a purpose in going to that store. I know what it was. But I do not know what
directed his attention to the store. I have reason to believe it was information he gained from Peters'
sister. Do you know her well enough to visit her and to draw from her what it was she told Ricori
yesterday? Casually-tactfully-without telling her of Ricori's illness?"
He said, bluntly: "Not without you give me more of a lead-Mollie's no fool."
"Very well. I am not aware whether Ricori told you, but the Darnley woman is dead. We think there is a
connection between her death and Peters' death. We think that it has something to do with the love of
both of them for Mollie's baby. The Darnley woman died precisely as Peters did-"
He whispered-"You mean with the same-trimmings?"
"Yes. We had reason to think that both might have picked up the-the disease-in the same place. Ricori
thought that perhaps Mollie might know something which would identify that place. A place where both
of them might have gone, not necessarily at the same time, and have been exposed to-the infection.
Maybe even a deliberate infection by some ill-disposed person. Quite evidently what Ricori learned from
Mollie sent him to the Mandilips. There is one awkward thing, however-unless Ricori told her yesterday,
she does not know her brother is dead."
"That's right," he nodded. "He gave orders about that."
"If he did not tell her, you must not."
"You're holding back quite a lot, ain't you, Doc?" He drew himself up to go.
"Yes," I said, frankly. "But I've told you enough."
"Yeah? Well, maybe." He regarded me, somberly. "Anyway, I'll soon know if the boss broke the news
to Mollie. If he did, it opens up the talk natural. If he didn't-well, I'll call you up after I've talked to her.
With this half-mocking adieu he took his departure. I went over to the remains of the doll upon the table.
The nauseous puddle had hardened. In hardening it had roughly assumed the aspect of a flattened human
body. It had a peculiarly unpleasant appearance, with the miniature ribs and the snapped wire of the
spine glinting above it. I was overcoming my reluctance to collect the mess for analysis when Braile came
in. I was so full of Ricori's awakening, and of what had occurred, that it was some time before I noticed
his pallor and gravity. I stopped short in the recital of my doubts regarding McCann to ask him what was
"I woke up this morning thinking of Harriet," he said. "I knew the 4-9-1 code, if it was a code, could not
have meant Diana. Suddenly it struck me that it might mean Diary. The idea kept haunting me. When I
had a chance I took Robbins and went to the apartment. We searched, and found Harriet's diary. Here it
He handed me a little red-bound book. He said: "I've gone through it."
I opened the book. I set down the parts of it pertinent to the matter under review.
Nov. 3. Had a queer sort of experience today. Dropped down to Battery Park to look at the new fishes
in the Aquarium. Had an hour or so afterwards and went poking around some of the old streets, looking
for something to take home to Diana. Found the oddest little shop. Quaint and old looking with some of
the loveliest dolls and dolls' clothes in the window I've ever seen. I stood looking at them and peeping
into the shop through the window. There was a girl in the shop. Her back was turned to me. She turned
suddenly and looked at me. She gave me the queerest kind of shock. Her face was white, without any
color whatever and her eyes were wide and sort of staring and frightened. She had a lot of hair, all ashen
blonde and piled up on her head. She was the strangest looking girl I think I've ever seen. She stared at
me for a full minute and I at her. Then she shook her head violently and made motions with her hands for
me to go away. I was so astonished I could hardly believe my eyes. I was about to go in and ask her
what on earth was the matter with her when I looked at my watch and found I had just time to get back
to the hospital. I looked into the shop again and saw a door at the back beginning slowly to open. The
girl made one last and it seemed almost despairing gesture. There was something about it that suddenly
made me want to run. But I didn't. I did walk away though. I've puzzled about the thing all day. Also,
besides being curious I'm a bit angry. The dolls and clothes are beautiful. What's wrong with me as a
customer? I'm going to find out.
Nov. 5. I went back to the doll shop this afternoon. The mystery deepens. Only I don't think it's much of
a mystery. I think the poor thing is a bit crazy. I didn't stop to look in the window but went right in the
door. The white girl was at a little counter at the back. When she saw me her eyes looked more
frightened than ever and I could see her tremble. I went up to her and she whispered, "Oh, why did you
come back? I told you to go away!" I laughed, I couldn't help it, and I said: "You're the queerest
shopkeeper I ever met. Don't you want people to buy your things?" She said low and very quickly: "It's
too late! You can't go now! But don't touch anything. Don't touch anything she gives you. Don't touch
anything she points out to you." And then in the most everyday way she said quite clearly: "Is there
anything I can show you? We have everything for dolls." The transition was so abrupt that it was startling.
Then I saw that a door had opened in the back of the shop, the same door I had seen opening before,
and that a woman was standing in it looking at me.
I gaped at her I don't know how long. She was so truly extraordinary. She must be almost six feet and
heavy, with enormous breasts. Not fat. Powerful. She has a long face and her skin is brown. She has a
distinct mustache and a mop of iron-gray hair.
It was her eyes that held me spellbound. They are simply enormous black and so full of life! She must
have a tremendous vitality. Or maybe it is the contrast with the white girl who seems to be drained of life.
No, I'm sure she has a most unusual vitality. I had the queerest thrill when she was looking at me. I
thought, nonsensically-"What big eyes you have, grandma!" "The better to see you with, my dear!"
"What big teeth you have, grandma!" "The better to eat you with, my dear!" (I'm not so sure though that it
was all nonsense.) And she really has big teeth, strong and yellow. I said, quite stupidly: "How do you
do?" She smiled and touched me with her hand and I felt another queer thrill. Her hands are the most
beautiful I ever saw. So beautiful, they are uncanny. Long with tapering fingers and so white. Like the
hands El Greco or Botticelli put on their women. I suppose that is what gave me the odd shock. They
don't seem to belong to her immense coarse body at all. But neither do the eyes. The hands and the eyes
go together. Yes, that's it.
She smiled and said: "You love beautiful things." Her voice belongs to hands and eyes. A deep rich
glowing contralto. I could feel it go through me like an organ chord. I nodded. She said: "Then you shall
see them, my dear. Come." She paid no attention to the girl. She turned to the door and I followed her.
As I went through the door I looked back at the girl. She appeared more frightened than ever and
distinctly I saw her lips form the word-"Remember."
The room she led me into was-well, I can't describe it. It was like her eyes and hands and voice.
When I went into it I had the strange feeling that I was no longer in New York. Nor in America. Nor
anywhere on earth, for that matter. I had the feeling that the only real place that existed was the room. It
was frightening. The room was larger than it seemed possible it could be, judging from the size of the
store. Perhaps it was the light that made it seem so. A soft mellow, dusky light. It is exquisitely paneled,
even the ceiling. On one side there is nothing but these beautiful old dark panelings with carvings in very
low relief covering them. There is a fireplace and a fire was burning in it. It was unusually warm but the
warmth was not oppressive. There was a faint fragrant odor, probably from the burning wood. The
furniture is old and exquisite too, but unfamiliar. There are some tapestries, clearly ancient. It is curious,
but I find it difficult to recall clearly just what is in that room. All that is clear is its unfamiliar beauty. I do
remember clearly an immense table, and I recall thinking of it as a "baronial board." And I remember
intensely the round mirror, and I don't like to think of that.
I found myself telling her all about myself and about Diana, and how she loved beautiful things. She
listened, and said in that deep, sweet voice, "She shall have one beautiful thing, my dear." She went to a
cabinet and came to me with the loveliest doll I have ever seen. It made me gasp when I thought how Di
would love it. A little baby doll, and so life-like and exquisite. "Would she like that?" she asked. I said:
"But I could never afford such a treasure. I'm poor." And she laughed, and said: "But I am not poor. This
shall be yours when I have finished dressing it."
It was rude, but I could not help saying: "You must be very, very rich to have all these lovely things. I
wonder why you keep a doll store." And she laughed again and said, "Just to meet nice people like you,
It was then I had the peculiar experience, with the mirror. It was round and I had looked and looked at it
because it was like, I thought, the half of an immense globule of clearest water. Its frame was brown
wood elaborately carved, and now and then the reflection of the carvings seemed to dance in the mirror
like vegetation on the edge of a woodland pool when a breeze ruffles it. I had been wanting to look into
it, and all at once the desire became irresistible. I walked to the mirror. I could see the whole room
reflected in it. Just as though I were looking not at its image or my own image but into another similar
room with a similar me peering out. And then there was a wavering and the reflection of the room
became misty, although the reflection of myself was perfectly clear. Then I could see only myself, and I
seemed to be getting smaller and smaller until I was no bigger than a large doll. I brought my face closer
and the little face thrust itself forward. I shook my head and smiled, and it did the same. It was my
reflection-but so small! And suddenly I felt frightened and shut my eyes tight. And when I looked in the
mirror again everything was as it had been before.
I looked at my watch and was appalled at the time I had spent. I arose to go, still with the panicky feeling
at my heart. She said: "Visit me again tomorrow, my dear. I will have the doll ready for you." I thanked
her and said I would. She went with me to the door of the shop. The girl did not look at me as I passed
Her name is Madame Mandilip. I am not going to her tomorrow nor ever again. She fascinates me but
she makes me afraid. I don't like the way I felt before the round mirror. And when I first looked into it
and saw the whole room reflected, why didn't I see her image in it? I did not! And although the room was
lighted, I can't remember seeing any windows or lamps. And that girl! And yet-Di would love the doll
Nov. 7. Queer how difficult it is to keep to my resolution not to return to Madame Mandilip. It makes me
so restless! Last night I had a terrifying dream. I thought I was back in that room. I could see it distinctly.
And suddenly I realized I was looking out into it. And that I was inside the mirror. I knew I was little.
Like a doll. I was frightened and I beat against it, and fluttered against it like a moth against a
windowpane. Then I saw two beautiful long white hands stretching out to me. They opened the mirror
and caught me and I struggled and fought and tried to get away. I woke with my heart beating so hard it
nigh smothered me. Di says I was crying out: "No! No! I won't! No, I won't!" over and over. She threw
a pillow at me and I suppose that's what awakened me.
Today I left the hospital at four, intending to go right home. I don't know what I could have been thinking
about, but whatever it was I must have been mighty preoccupied. I woke up to find myself in the Subway
Station just getting on a Bowling Green train. That would have taken me to the Battery. I suppose
absentmindedly I had set out for Madame Mandilip's. It gave me such a start that I almost ran out of the
station and up to the street. I think I'm acting very stupidly. I always have prided myself on my common
sense. I think I must consult Dr. Braile and see whether I'm becoming neurotic. There's no earthly reason
why I shouldn't go to see Madame Mandilip. She is most interesting and certainly showed she liked me.
It was so gracious of her to offer me that lovely doll. She must think me ungrateful and rude. And it
would please Di so. When I think of how I've been feeling about the mirror it makes me feel as childish
as Alice in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass, rather. Mirrors or any other reflecting surfaces
make you see queer things sometimes. Probably the heat and the fragrance had a lot to do with it. I really
don't know that Madame Mandilip wasn't reflected. I was too intent upon looking at myself. It's too
absurd to run away and hide like a child from a witch. Yet that's precisely what I'm doing. If it weren't for
that girl-but she certainly is a neurotic! I want to go, and I just don't see why I'm behaving so.
Nov. 10. Well, I'm glad I didn't persist in that ridiculous idea. Madame Mandilip is wonderful. Of course,
there are some queer things I don't understand, but that's because she is so different from any one I've
ever met and because when I get inside her room life becomes so different. When I leave, it's like going
out of some enchanted castle into the prosiest kind of world. Yesterday afternoon I determined I'd go to
see her straight from the hospital. The moment I made up my mind I felt as though a cloud had lifted from
it. Gayer and happier than I've been for a week. When I went in the store the white girl-her name is
Laschna-stared at me as though she was going to cry. She said, in the oddest choked voice,
"Remember that I tried to save you!"
It seemed so funny that I laughed and laughed. Then Madame Mandilip opened the door, and when I
looked at her eyes and heard her voice I knew why I was so light-hearted-it was like coming home after
the most awful siege of home-sickness. The lovely room welcomed me. It really did. It's the only way I
can describe it. I have the queer feeling that the room is as alive as Madame Mandilip. That it is a part of
her-or rather, a part of the part of her that are her eyes and hands and voice. She didn't ask me why I
had stayed away. She brought out the doll. It is more wonderful than ever. She has still some work to do
on it. We sat and talked, and then she said: "I'd like to make a doll of you, my dear." Those were her
exact words, and for just an instant I had a frightened feeling because I remembered my dream and saw
myself fluttering inside the mirror and trying to get out. And then I realized it was just her way of
speaking, and that she meant she would like to make a doll that looked like me. So I laughed and said,
"Of course you can make a doll of me, Madame Mandilip." I wonder what nationality she is.
She laughed with me, her big eyes bigger than ever and very bright. She brought out some wax and
began to model my head. Those beautiful long fingers worked rapidly as though each of them was a little
artist in itself. I watched them, fascinated. I began to get sleepy, and sleepier and sleepier. She said, "My
dear, I do wish you'd take off your clothes and let me model your whole body. Don't be shocked. I'm
just an old woman." I didn't mind at all, and I said sleepily, "Why, of course you can." And I stood on a
little stool and watched the wax taking shape under those white fingers until it had become a small and
most perfect copy of me. I knew it was perfect, although I was so sleepy I could hardly see it. I was so
sleepy Madame Mandilip had to help me dress, and then I must have gone sound asleep, because I
woke up with quite a start to find her patting my hands and saying, "I'm sorry I tired you, child. Stay if
you wish. But if you must go, it is growing late." I looked at my watch and I was still so sleepy I could
hardly see it, but I knew it was dreadfully late. Then Madame Mandilip pressed her hands over my eyes
and suddenly I was wide awake. She said, "Come tomorrow and take the doll." I said, "I must pay you
what I can afford." She said, "You've paid me in full, my dear, by letting me make a doll of you." Then
we both laughed and I hurried out. The white girl was busy with someone, but I called "au 'voir" to her.
Probably she didn't hear me, for she didn't answer.
Nov. 11. I have the doll and Diana is crazy about it! How glad I am I didn't surrender to that silly morbid
feeling. Di has never had anything that has given her such happiness. She adores it! Sat again for
Madame Mandilip this afternoon for the finishing touches on my own doll. She is a genius. Truly a genius!
I wonder more than ever why she is content to run a little shop. She surely could take her place among
the greatest of artists. The doll literally is me. She asked if she could cut some of my hair for its head and
of course I let her. She tells me this doll is not the real doll she is going to make of me. That will be much
larger. This is just the model from which she will work. I told her I thought this was perfect but she said
the other would be of less perishable material. Maybe she will give me this one after she is finished with it.
I was so anxious to take the baby doll home to Di that I didn't stay long. I smiled and spoke to Laschna
as I went out, and she nodded to me although not very cordially. I wonder if she can be jealous.
Nov. 13. This is the first time I have felt like writing since that dreadful case of Mr. Peters on the morning
of the 10th. I had just finished writing about Di's doll when the hospital called to say they wanted me on
duty that night. Of course, I said I would come. Oh, but I wish I hadn't. I'll never forget that dreadful
death. Never! I don't want to write or think about it. When I came home that morning I could not sleep,
and I tossed and tossed trying to get his face out of my mind. I thought I had schooled myself too well to
be affected by any patient. But there was something-Then I thought that if there was anyone who could
help me to forget, it would be Madame Mandilip. So about two o'clock I went down to see her.
Madame was in the store with Laschna and seemed surprised to see me so early. And not so pleased as
usual, or so I thought but perhaps it was my nervousness. The moment I entered the lovely room I began
to feel better. Madame had been doing something with wire on the table but I couldn't see what because
she made me sit in a big comfortable chair, saying, "You look tired, child. Sit here and rest until I'm
finished and here's an old picture book that will keep you interested." She gave me a queer old book,
long and narrow and it must have been very old because it was on vellum or something and the pictures
and their colorings were like some of those books that have come down from the Middle Ages, the kind
the old monks used to paint. They were all scenes in forests or gardens and the flowers and trees were
the queerest! There were no people or anything in them but you had the strangest feeling that if you had
just a little better eyes you could see people or something behind them. I mean it was as though they
were hiding behind the trees and flowers or among them and looking out at you. I don't know how long I
studied the pictures, trying and trying to see those hidden folk, but at last Madame called me. I went to
the table with the book still in my hand. She said, "That's for the doll I am making of you. Take it up and
see how cleverly it is done." And she pointed to something made of wire on the table. I reached out to
pick it up and then suddenly I saw that it was a skeleton. It was little, like a child's skeleton and all at
once the face of Mr. Peters flashed in my mind and I screamed in a moment of perfectly crazy panic and
threw out my hands. The book flew out of my hand and dropped on the little wire skeleton and there was
a sharp twang and the skeleton seemed to jump. I recovered myself immediately and I saw that the end
of the wire had come loose and had cut the binding of the book and was still stuck in it. For a moment
Madame was dreadfully angry. She caught my arm and squeezed it so it hurt and her eyes were furious
and she said in the strangest voice, "Why did you do that? Answer me. Why?" And she actually shook
me. I don't blame her now, although then she really did frighten me, because she must have thought I did
it deliberately. Then she saw how I was trembling and her eyes and voice became gentle and she said,
"Something is troubling you, my dear. Tell me and perhaps I can help you." She made me lie down upon
a divan and sat beside me and stroked my hair and forehead and though I never discuss our cases to
others I found myself pouring out the whole story of the Peters case. She asked who was the man who
had brought him to the hospital and I said Dr. Lowell called him Ricori and I supposed he was the
notorious gangster. Her hands made me feel quiet and nice and sleepy and I told her about Dr. Lowell
and how great a doctor he is and how terrible I am in love in secret with Dr. B-. I'm sorry I told her
about the case. Never have I done such a thing. But I was so shaken and once I had begun I seemed to
have to tell her everything. Everything in my mind was so distorted that once when I had lifted my head to
look at her I actually thought she was gloating. That shows how little I was like myself! After I had
finished she told me to lie there and sleep and she would waken me when I wished. So I said I must go at
four. I went right to sleep and woke up feeling rested and fine. When I went out the little skeleton and
book were still on the table, and I said I was so sorry about the book. She said, "Better the book than
your hand, my dear. The wire might have snapped loose while you were handling it and given you a nasty
cut." She wants me to bring down my nurse's dress so she can make a little one like it for the new doll.
Nov. 14. I wish I'd never gone to Madame Mandilip's. I wouldn't have had my foot scalded. But that's
not the real reason I'm sorry. I couldn't put it in words if I tried. But I do wish I hadn't. I took the nurse's
costume down to her this afternoon. She made a little model of it very quickly. She was gay and sang me
some of the most haunting little songs. I couldn't understand the words. She laughed when I asked her
what the language was and said, "The language of the people who peeped at you from the pictures of the
book, my dear." That was a strange thing to say. How did she know I thought there were people hidden
in the pictures? I do wish I'd never gone there. She brewed some tea and poured cups for us. And then
just as she was handing me mine her elbow struck the teapot and overturned it and the scalding tea
poured right down over my right foot. It pained atrociously. She took off the shoe and stripped off the
stocking and spread salve of some sort over the scald. She said it would take out the pain and heal it
immediately. It did stop the pain, and when I came home I could hardly believe my eyes. Job wouldn't
believe it had really been scalded. Madame Mandilip was terribly distressed about it. At least she
seemed to be. I wonder why she didn't go to the door with me as usual. She didn't. She stayed in the
room. The white girl, Laschna, was close to the door when I went out into the store. She looked at the
bandage on my foot and I told her it had been scalded but Madame had dressed it. She didn't even say
she was sorry. As I went out I looked at her and said a bit angrily, "Goodbye." Her eyes filled with tears
and she looked at me in the strangest way and shook her head and said "Au 'voir!" I looked at her again
as I shut the door and the tears were rolling down her cheeks. I wonder-why? (I wish I had never gone
to Madame Mandilip!!!!)
Nov. 15. Foot all healed. I haven't the slightest desire to return to Madame Mandilip's. I shall never go
there again. I wish I could destroy that doll she gave me for Di. But it would break the child's heart.
Nov. 20. Still no desire to see her. I find I'm forgetting all about her. The only time I think of her is when I
see Di's doll. I'm glad! So glad I want to dance and sing. I'll never see her again.
But dear God how I wish I never had seen her! And still I don't know why.
This was the last reference to Madame Mandilip in Nurse Walters' diary. She died on the morning of