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When I was no further than a mile down the road, a messenger came to call me back, saying that the winchman, Old Chrissie, lay dying and, on hearing of a monk passing by, had asked for absolution.

By such luck I entered the village, and found that the place, though poor, was wholesome, and if death came, still it was without sunk, or black boils, or livid spots, nor with the poison that darts from the eyes of the plague victims to strike down those who would minister to them.