“Your very face tells me that you have made off with it.”
“Why should I make off with it? ‘Twould be of no use to me, for I can neither read nor write.”
“You lie! You have taken it away for the sexton to scribble upon.”
“Well, if the sexton wanted paper he could get some for himself. Neither he nor I have set eyes upon your piece.”
“Ah! Wait a bit, for on the Judgment Day you will be roasted by devils on iron spits. Just see if you are not!”
“But why should I be roasted when I have never even TOUCHED the paper? You might accuse me of any other fault than theft.”
“Nay, devils shall roast you, sure enough. They will say to you, ‘Bad woman, we are doing this because you robbed your master,’ and then stoke up the fire still hotter.”
“Nevertheless I shall continue to say, ‘You are roasting me for nothing, for I never stole anything at all.’ Why, THERE it is, lying on the table! You have been accusing me for no reason whatever!”
And, sure enough, the sheet of paper was lying before Plushkin’s very eyes. For a moment or two he chewed silently. Then he went on:
“Well, and what are you making such a noise about? If one says a single word to you, you answer back with ten. Go and fetch me a candle to seal a letter with. And mind you bring a TALLOW candle, for it will not cost so much as the other sort. And bring me a match too.”