She gives me a sad smile. “Yeah, the dollhouse. So I wanted tostudy to be able to give people that feeling. To make them feelsafe and protected and loved. To make them feel comfortable.But… it didn’t work out.”
“I didn’t have the money,” she says. “I had a scholarship offerwaiting for me if I went for an accounting degree. But the onefor architecture… well, there was a panel of professors whodecided which new applicants would receive the money. And Ididn’t get in.”
She nods, but I can see in her face that there’s something else.Something she isn’t saying.
So when she reaches for the notebook, I pull it back again. “Iwant the whole story, lapochka.”
“It doesn’t even matter,” she mumbles. “It was so long ago. Adead dream.”
I tap the notebook. “It doesn’t seem dead.”
“Well, it
