Crowley found him on the pavement outside, trying to extricate a rather squishy dove from the arm of his frock coat. ‘It’s late,’ said Aziraphale. ‘I can see that,’ said Crowley. ‘Comes of sticking it up your sleeve.’ He reached out and pulled the limp bird from Aziraphale’s coat, and breathed life back into it. The dove cooed appreciatively and flew off, a trifle warily.
