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her head on her hand, singing old sentimental
ballads in her melancholy voice: ‘Through the
dark dales,’ or ‘Black flower, dark flower.’ It
was sad, but for Tania these times had a peculiar
charm. Now and then Maria’s singing would
be interrupted by a violent cough, which shook
her whole frame as if she was going to burst.
She had suffered from this cough for years.
When, on the morning after the scene with
Fekluscha, Njania asked Maria Vasiljevna if she
had given Fekluscha the jam, she looked utterly
astonished, as might be expected.
‘Oh dear, Njania, what are you thinking of?
You don’t think I would do such a thing, and
spoil the child like that? Besides, I have got
no jam myself,’ she exclaimed in an offended
tone.
So, of course, the matter was clear; but
Fekluscha’s impudence was so great that, in spite
of this, she persisted in declaring that she was
innocent.
‘But, Maria Vasiljevna, for Christ’s sake, have
you quite forgotten? You called me into your
room last night, then you thanked me for the
irons, and gave me the jam,’ she cried in despair,
trembling all over, as if in fever.
‘You are raving, Fekluscha, you must be ill,’
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