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’Oh, well, a husband can’t throw off his wife
like an old glove,’ Anna Sergejevna answered;
‘besides, I must say, that though she treated him
badly, he loved her dearly all the same.’
‘But how could he? such a Xantippe!’
‘He did love her, anyhow, and he could not
live without her. When they had done away
with her, he grieved so deeply, that he very
nearly put an end to his own life.’
‘What do you mean, auntie? You say they did
away with her?’ the children asked, in the
greatest excitement.
Auntie, who feels that she has said too much,
suddenly falls silent, and knits fast at her
stocking, to show that she is not going to say any
more.
But the children’s curiosity is roused, and they
don’t give in.
‘Oh, do tell us, auntie dear,’ they beseech.
And, perhaps, Anna Sergejevna feels rather a
temptation to go on, as she has told so much of
the story.
‘Well, her own servants did it,’ she suddenly
answers.
‘Oh, how dreadful! How did they do it?’
‘It was this way,’ Anna Sergejevna begins
again: ‘One night she was alone, having sent
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