The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke. ’ ‘Secret passage, is it?’ The sergeant seemed to brighten at this. Enschede: no human emotion should ever again shuttle between him and God. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire.
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