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My Doll

When I was an infant, I got a rag doll. 

It was a very plain, little doll, and it wore a clown outfit and a clown’s hat. 

I used to take that doll to bed with me every night. 

I couldn’t go to bed without my doll. 

My mother used to pretend that the doll was talking to me. 

She would make the doll dance and sing songs. 

I would talk to the doll. 

My mother would answer for the doll, but I was a baby, and I thought that the doll was actually talking to me. 

That doll was my best friend. 

I took her everywhere. 

One time I took her to a store with me, and I left her on a shelf in the store. 

We were halfway home when I realized that I didn’t have my doll with me. 

I was very upset. 

My mother and I rushed back to the store. 

My doll was still there. 

I was so relieved. 

I hugged my doll, and I promised myself that I would never leave her anywhere again. 

I couldn’t imagine life without that doll. 

Through the years, the doll became less important in my life. 

I had other things to do, but the doll still sat on my bed during the day, and I still took it to bed at night. 

I gave that doll a lot of love when I was little. 

In fact, I loved the doll so much that she looks tattered and torn now. 

There are parts of her face and hands that are almost worn away. 

I had a lot of other toys when I was little, but none of them were ever so important as that doll. 

I don’t play with toys anymore, but that doll is still in my room. 

She sits in a special chair in the corner. 

I’ll always have that doll. 

No matter how worn out she is, I’ll always keep her and cherish her as a part of my early childhood.

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