Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Ithoughtso.’

           Cutwellpattedherineptlyonthehand,andKeliwastoopreoccupiedeventonoticesuchflagrantlesèmajesté.

           ’Yousee,everything’sfixed.Historyisallworkedout,fromstarttofinish.Whatthefactsactuallyareisbesidethepoint;historyjustrollsstraightoverthetopofthem.Youcan’tchangeanythingbecausethechangesarealreadypartofit.You’redead.It’sfated.You’lljusthavetoacceptit.’

           Hegaveanapologeticgrin.’You’realotluckierthanmostdeadpeople,ifyoulookatitobjectively,’hesaid.’You’realivetoenjoyit.’

           ’Idon’twanttoacceptit.WhyshouldIacceptit?It’snotmyfault!’

           ’Youdon’tunderstand.Historyismovingon.Youcan’tgetinvolvedinitanymore.Thereisn’tapartinitforyou,don’tyousee?Besttoletthingstaketheircourse.’Hepattedherhandagain.Shelookedathim.Hewithdrewhishand.

           ’WhatamIsupposedtodothen?’shesaid.’Noteat,becausethefoodwasn’tdestinedtobeeatenbyme?Goandliveinacryptsomewhere?’

           ’Bitofaposer,isn’tit?’agreedCutwell.’That’sfateforyou,I’mafraid.Iftheworldcan’tsenseyou,youdon’texist.I’mawizard.Weknow—’

           ’Don’tsayit.’

           Kelistoodup.

           FivegenerationsagooneofherancestorhadhaltedhisbandofnomadiccutthroatsafewmilesfromthemoundofStoLatandhadregardedthesleepingcitywithapeculiarlydeterminedexpressionthatsaid:This’lldo.