That which occurs in the mind of your audience is pure magic. It is the magic they will remember.– The Bullet Catcher’s HandbookIn the two years I had been tutoring Julia, I’d never been invited to her bedroom. Nor, for that matter, had I shown her Bessie’s small sleeping cabins. Yet here we were, climbing the neatly carpeted stairs of her house, the black iron stair rods shining as if freshly polished. Mrs Swain seemed to have had the maid work double time in preparation for my visit. I could smell beeswax polish from the banister rail.“It hasn’t been decorated since... well, since I was a girl,” said Julia, as she stepped through the door into her room. I looked around and found myself giggling.”“Elizabeth?”“I’m sorry. Really. It’s lovely.”“Is it the dolls?” she asked.“They’re a delight. It was their... their number that surprised me.”China faces looked in on us from every side. Three on the bed. Five on the dressing table, sitting with their backs to the mirror.
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