Emeline ran up to me and handed over a baby doll. "My bebee, my beebee. It's bwooooken. Oh, no."
I examined it and didn't see anything wrong. "Is she sick, Emeline? Does she need a kiss?" I did notice the doll's shirt was unfastened. I snapped it shut.
"Oh, my bebee. It's aww butter." Emeline giggled, grabbed her doll, and scampered (yes, she scampers) away.
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