Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

Ritual, 1969 [two stories]

was there. Or at least if something did happen, if the soldiers or a perhaps a monster came and stole Amanda away, then at least the dolls would know. They wouldn’t think she had abandoned them. Thus satisfied, the little girl turned her attention to the display in Monsieur Arbot’s brightly lit window. The snow had almost gone; only grey dirty heaps remained in dark places hidden from the sun. She stood looking carefully at the tall metal buckets that held the real flowers as well as the flowers that had been made from fabric. The ledge of the shop, now that she was at street level, hid from view the other side of the counter where Monsieur Arbot warmed himself and where he kept brown

paper, string, thin wire and a wooden cash box. Amanda pushed open the door to the shop and entered. Monsieur Arbot looked up at the sound of the door and at first wore an expression of bewilderment as he had expected to see a customer at eye level with him. ‘ Bonjour Monsieur Arbot ,’ Amanda said politely, remembering how her mama had always addressed shopkeepers. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘ Bonjour Mademoiselle .’ But he didn’t smile, merely gazed at the child blankly. ‘I want to buy some flowers. For my mama, as she is sick.’ He grunted miserably in response and flapped his

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