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It was in the attics that Christian lived her real life. She made a fairy world for herself, and there she was happy. In the great front attic, which ran right across the house, she kept her dolls. Christian had twelve dolls, and they all had special characteristics and specially interesting histories. The adventures those dolls went through would have delighted any other little girl; Christian took these things as a matter of course. If Rosabel, the doll in the blue frock, would run away at night to live with the gypsies for a long time, she deserved punishment, and would be treated accordingly. If Abelard, who was dressed in the costume of an old crusader, would fight his enemies until he himself was all to pieces, and had to lie in bed without arms or legs, surely that also was his own fault, and his punishment served him right. Christian's cheeks used to blaze and her eyes grow bright as these adventurous dolls went through their career of naughtiness in her presence. She was so imaginative that she got herself to believe that they really did these things without any help from her, and sometimes she would sigh and shake her head and think herself much to be pitied for having such a fearfully troublesome, not to say dangerous family to manage.