“The place had become a huge, dreary waste, stretching as far as Klara could see into the distance. It seemed to her as if all the trash that the world had outgrown had been dumped here—it was so covered with heaps of old rubbish.
“Klara turned to the old lady. She had not changed except that her cruel mouth sneered.
“Klara burst into tears. ‘I want to go home,’ she screamed. ‘Let me go back to my mother.’”
“The old lady only smiled. ‘You open that door and let me go back to my mother,’ Klara cried passionately.
“‘But I can’t open it,’ the old lady said. ‘It’s locked. I have no keys.’
“‘Where are the keys?’ Klara asked.
“The old lady pointed to the endless heaps of rubbish. ‘There, somewhere,’ she said.
“‘I’ll find them,’ Klara screamed, ‘and open that door and run back to my home. You shan’t keep me from my own dear mother, you wicked woman.’
“‘Nobody wants to keep you,’ the old lady said. ‘You came of your own accord. Find the keys if you want to go back.’
“That was true and Klara wisely did not answer. But you can fancy how she regretted coming. She began to search among the dump-heaps. She could find no keys. But the longer she hunted the more determined she grew. It seemed to her that she searched for weeks and weeks.