The plate was gone, was irretrievably lost.

There was nothing in that miserable room but grimy rags and rust-corroded iron.

What torment! what agony! to be so near--so near, to see it in one's distorted fancy as plain as in a mirror.

To know every individual piece as an old friend; to feel its weight; to be dazzled by its glitter; to call it one's own, own; to have it to oneself, hugged to the breast; and then to start, to wake, to come down to the horrible reality.
"And you, YOU had it once," gasped Zerkow, clawing at her arm; "you had it once, all your own.

Think of it, and now it's gone." "Gone for good and all." "Perhaps it's buried near your old place somewhere." "It's gone--gone--gone," chanted Maria in a monotone.
Zerkow dug his nails into his scalp, tearing at his red hair.
"Yes, yes, it's gone, it's gone--lost forever! Lost forever!" Marcus and the dentist walked up the silent street and reached the little dog hospital.