Мор - ученик смерти

           Andtheywouldn’tthinktwiceaboutcuttingyourheadoffsoonaslookatyou,’headdedapprovingly.’Andallthequeensweretallandpaleandworethembalaclavahelmetthings—’

           ’Wimples?’saidMort.

           ’Yeah,them,andtheprincesseswerebeautifulasthedayislongandsonoblethey,theycouldpeethroughadozenmattresses—’

           ’What?’

           Alberthesitated.’Somethinglikethat,anyway,’heconceded.’Andtherewasballsandtournamentsandexecutions.Greatdays.’Hesmileddreamilyathismemories.

           ’Notlikethesortofdaysyougetnow,’hesaid,emergingfromhisreveriewithbadgrace.

           ’Haveyougotanyothernames,Albert?’saidMort.Butthebriefspellhadbeenbrokenandtheoldmanwasn’tgoingtobedrawn.

           ’Oh,Iknow,’hesnapped,’getAlbert’snameandyou’llgoandlookhimupinthelibrary,won’tyou?Pryingandpoking.Iknowyou,skulkinginthereatallhoursreadingthelivesofyoungwimmen—’

           TheheraldsofguiltmusthaveflourishedtheirtarnishedtrumpetsinthedepthsofMort’seyes,becauseAlbertcackledandproddedhimwithabonyfinger.

           ’Youmightatleastputthembackwhereyoufind’em,’hesaid,’notleavepilesof’emaroundforoldAlberttoputback.Anyway,it’snotright,oglingthepoordeadthings.Itprobablyturnsyoublind.’