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By Siobhán Parkinson

During this novel within the Irish language, Mara celebrates her 13th birthday. Her mom, although, provides her a gift of Matrioshka dolls from Russia, extra a present for a more youthful lady - or even then, one of many dolls is lacking. while Mara and her buddy Dorota move looking for the lacking doll they make a few discoveries which Mara couldn't have imagined.... notice: this booklet is written within the Irish language; there is not any English language textual content.

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Nuair a tháinig sí ar ais, bhí sí gléasta i bhfad ní ba mheasúla, sciorta agus geansaí deas néata uirthi. Bhí tráidire aici a raibh gréithe tae agus cáca mór álainn air. ‘’Bhfuil cuma níos seanmháithriúla orm anois? ’ ar sise, agus í ag miongháire. ‘Níos ... ? ’ arsa Mara. Agus rith sé léi faoi dheireadh thiar thall: ‘Marina? ’ ar sí. ‘An tusa Marina? ’ ‘Is mise an bhean chéanna,’ arsa an bhean. ‘An tracksuit a chuir ar strae thú, nárbh ea? Brón orm gan seál a bheith orm, sa dóigh move mbeadh a fhios agat chomh críonna agus atá mé. ’ Phléasc Mara amach ag gáire. ‘Is mise do sheanmháthair, bíodh a fhios agat,’ arsa Marina. ‘Ní mé do shin-seanmháthair. ’ Chuidigh Mara lena seanmháthair an tae a chur amach. ‘An bhfuil sin-seanmháthair agam chomh maith? An bhfuil do mháthairse beo cross fóill? ’ ‘Fad agus is eol dom,’ arsa Marina ar nós cuma liom. ‘Fad agus ... nach bhfuil a fhios agat é? ’ ‘Bhuel, níor chuala mé move bhfuair sí bás, ar aon nós. Is dóigh liom move bhfuil sí ag cur uafáis ar mhuintir Bloomsbury move fóill. ’ Bhí Mara suaite. Ní raibh suim ar bith ag Marina ina máthair féin. Nárbh uafásach an scéal é? Ach ní raibh suim ag Maria ina máthair sise ach oiread. B’iontach an dream iad, move deimhin. ‘Fan move mbreathnóidh mé ort,’ arsa Marina ansin, agus iad ag ól tae. ‘Macasamhail d’athar thú, faraor. ’ Crosta. Baineadh siar as Mara. ‘Ó! ’ ar sise ‘Tá mise bródúil as an gcosúlacht! ’ ‘Jonathan Clancy! An turnip-head sin. B’amadán ó dhúchas é. Dúirt mé le Maria ... ach ... . Agus cén fáth a bhfuil tusa ar mo lorg anois? Is dócha pass bhfuil d’athair dífhostaithe, an liúdramán? ’ Casta. D’éirigh an fhearg aníos trí cholainn Mhara, agus níor fhan focal aici. B’fhíor nach raibh a hathair fostaithe, pass díreach, ach ní raibh baint ar bith ag slí bheatha a hathar leis an mbean search engine optimization. Bhí Mara ar tí briseadh amach ag caoineadh, ach níor mhaith léi cross bhfeicfeadh a seanmháthair cé chomh buartha agus a bhí sí. Mar sin, ní dúirt sí ach, ‘Is ealaíontóir é,’ agus lig sí uirthi pass raibh sí sáite sa cháca milis. ‘Hmmm,’ arsa Marina. ‘B’óinseach bhómánta í do mháthair riamh. Ealaíontóir a phósadh. As ucht Dé! ’ Cantalach. Ní dúirt Mara tada. Bhí na beola beagnach ite dá béal aici, ag iarraidh gan rud ar bith a rá. ‘Tá duine de na bábóga ar strae,’ ar sise ansin. ‘Na bábóga? ’ ‘Rúiseacha,’ arsa Mara. ‘Ó, na maitríóisce! Ar strae? Cé acu? ’ Ní raibh sí cantalach anois ar chor ar bith. Bhí sí deas cneasta agus rud beag imní uirthi, fiú, faoin mbábóg chaillte. ‘An ceann is lú,’ arsa Mara. ‘Hmmm,’ arsa Marina. ‘Is trua sin. Is MÓR an trua sin. ’ Cad a tharla don tseanbhean chrosta, chasta, chantalach? Cá ndeachaigh sí? Níor thuig Mara tada. ‘Nach bhfuil barúil agat cá háit? ’ arsa Mara. ‘Agamsa? Maise, níl. Bhí siad cross léir ann, an uair dheireanach a chonaic mise iad. Cúig cinn, nach ea? ’ ‘Is ea,’ arsa Mara, agus díomá uirthi. ‘Ba cheart cross mbeadh cúig cinn ann. Ach níl ach ceithre cinn agam. ’ ‘Nach bhfuil an cáca move haoibhinn? ’ arsa Marina ansin, agus í ag gearradh slisní de, faoi mar nach raibh rud ar bith géar ráite aici cheana. ‘Tá orm imeacht,’ arsa Mara.

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