“They kill the cats,” said Coke, pushing a feline body dangling near him. The skin, tanned on the inside, knocked the one next to it, which set the next swaying too and for a few moments all Pitman could see was the man’s dark face, now there, now not, revealed and then hidden by swinging fur.
Pitman reached out to steady what swung. “I have never understood it. They kill all the cats, and the small dogs too, both easy to catch. But then the rats, which they also have condemned but are harder to lay hold of, multiply.” He let go of the furs, which now spun in place.
“I suppose the authorities must act if they believe the plague has come.”
“It has come. I am a constable and have had the shutting up of several houses in my parish, may God forgive me.” He sighed. “Yet perhaps between the s
