upon yourselves…each slaying the other…rending yourselves like wolves…like-"
She staggered back a step, reeling.
I saw-or thought I saw-the doll of Walters writhe. Then swift as a striking snake it raised its bound
hands and thrust the dagger-pin through the doll-maker's throat…twisted it savagely…and thrust and
thrust again…stabbing the golden throat of the woman precisely where that other doll had stabbed Braile!
And as Braile had screamed-so now screamed the doll-maker…dreadfully, agonizedly…
She tore the doll from her breast. She hurled it from her. The doll hurtled toward the fireplace, rolled, and
touched the glowing coals.
There was a flash of brilliant flame, a wave of that same intense heat I had felt when the match of
McCann had struck the Peters doll. And instantly, at the touch of that heat, the dolls at the woman's feet