. . .

“It’s all right,” says Linus.

There is a black dog standing near the entrance of the room. Its leg is tangled in the string. If it moved it would rattle the pots and pans. But it does not move. It simply stands there. It pants. It looks at Mouser.

Mouser goes very still.

Linus walks forward. He takes hold of the whisker. There is a momentary shiver in the room. Then it is plucked.

Jane blinks. The dog is gone.

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