I recognized this as one of the illusions that Venice casts over the visitor. This cunning city fostered and endless capacity for self-deception. Lab… - Robert Sheckley

The coincidence would be too great anywhere except in Venice, where the machinery of illusion delights in casting up the improbable, the unusual, and the unexpected. There is a price, of course; by tampering with probabilities, Venice induces a deterioration in the commonplace—to her disadvantage.

“For information concerning the afterlife,” Miss Ophelia said, “kindly contact your nearest priest, minister, rabbi, mullah or anyone else on the accredited list of God’s representatives. Thank you for calling.”
There was a sweet tinkle of chimes. Then the line went dead.
“What did the Big Fellow say?” asked General Muller.
“All I got was double-talk from his secretary.”
“Personally, I don’t believe in superstitions like God,” General Muller said. “Even if it happens to be true, I find it healthier not to believe. Shall we get on with it?”
They got on with it.

Nobody says any longer, “When will the killing stop?” Now we know that the killing will stop only when life itself stops.