Even so did Plushkin's face, after its momentary manifestation of feeling, become meaner and more insensible than ever.
"There used to be a sheet of clean writing paper lying on the table," he went on.

"But where it is now I cannot think.

That comes of my servants being such rascals." Whit that he fell to looking also under the table, as well as to hurrying about with cries of "Mavra, Mavra!" At length the call was answered by a woman with a plateful of the sugar of which mention has been made; whereupon there ensued the following conversation.
"What have you done with my piece of writing paper, you pilferer ?" "I swear that I have seen no paper except the bit with which you covered the glass." "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.