He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of capturing his prey on the Sunday. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. ” “Anything except that,” he murmured. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side.
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