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Maria Vasiljevna replied calmly, and her pale
face did not betray the slightest emotion.
There was no further doubt as to Fekluscha’s
guilt. She was taken away, and shut up in a
closet far away from the family apartments.
‘There you may stay, you bad girl, and you
won’t get anything to eat till you confess,’
Njania said, turning the key twice in the lock.
As a matter of course, this event created a
great sensation all over the house. The servants,
one by one, paid visits to Njania, and talked it
over with her. The nursery had become a
club-room.
Fekluscha’s father was dead, but her mother
lived in a neighbouring village, and was
occasionally sent for to help in the laundry. Of
course she soon heard what had happened, and
rushed up to the nursery, crying and wailing,
and protesting that her daughter was innocent.
However, Njania soon silenced her.
‘Hush, hush, be quiet, don’t make such a fuss!
You wait till we find out where your daughter
has hidden the stolen things,’ she said, and
looked so severe that the poor woman was
frightened, and retired in a hurry.
Public opinion was decidedly against
Fekluscha. ‘If she has taken the jam,’ they said,
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