The Wabbit felt it was getting chilly as he strolled down the Pozzo Corridor. He heard that voice again. "Get out of my Corridor!" The Wabbit half turned. "It's not your corridor; it belongs to the Jesuits." The ghostly figure didn't even look at the Wabbit. "Don't like 'em." The Wabbit grimaced. "You don't like anything." The figure shrugged. "Is this one of your many disguises?" asked the Wabbit. "Best the Devil could do at short notice," came the reply. "Why does the Devil always have a hat?" said the Wabbit. "Signifier," said the Devil. He looked at the floor, stepped off a marble rose and then back on. Everything shimmered. "You're in a Holy place," growled the Wabbit. "Where better to conceal my undoubted talents," came the reply. His voice filled with sarcasm, somewhere between a mock and a scoff. "Have you got a plan?" asked the Wabbit. "Me? A plan? I have several." The Devil rocked back and forward from the marble rose. Perspectives looped. The Wabbit felt a vague kind of nausea. "When you see me next time, I'll have a different disguise." The Devil smiled and began to shimmer like the faux-ochre and marble columns of Pozzo's chiaroscuro designs. The Wabbit blinked but he'd gone. He saw some tourists approaching, chattering like children. He shook his head. They knew nothing of this - and mostly fed by Instagram, how could they? Time drew on so he made his way to his meeting place. Lapinette was waiting. If he was late there would be the devil to pay.
