Мор - ученик смерти

           Thisbelongstoyou,Ithink.’

           ’Thankyou.’Sheblewhernosenoisily.

           Mortwasalreadywelldownthecorridor,hisshouldershunchedlikevulture’swings.Sheranafterhim.

           ’Isay,’shesaid.

           ’What?’

           ’Iwantedtosaythankyou.’

           ’Itdoesn’tmatter,’hemuttered.’It’djustbebestifyoudon’ttakebooksawayagain.Itupsetsthem,orsomething.’Hegavewhatheconsideredtobeamirthlesslaugh.’Ha!’

           ’Hawhat?’

           ’Justha!’

           He’dreachedtheendofthecorridor.Therewasthedoorintothekitchen,whereAlbertwouldbeleeringknowingly,andMortdecidedhecouldn’tfacethat.Hestopped.

           ’ButIonlytookthebooksforabitofcompany,’shesaidbehindhim.

           Hegavein.

           ’Wecouldhaveawalkinthegarden,’hesaidindespair,andthenmanagedtohardenhisheartalittleandadded,’Withoutobligation,thatis.’

           ’Youmeanyou’renotgoingtomarryme?’shesaid.Mortwashorrified.’Marry?’

           ’Isn’tthatwhatfatherbroughtyouherefor?’shesaid.’Hedoesn’tneedanapprentice,afterall.’

           ’Youmeanallthosenudgesandwinksandlittlecommentsaboutsomedaymysonallthiswillbeyours?’saidMort.’Itriedtoignorethem.Idon’twanttogetmarriedtoanyoneyet,’headded,suppressingafleetingmentalpictureoftheprincess.’Andcertainlynottoyou,nooffencemeant.’

           ’Iwouldn’tmarryyouifyouwerethelastmanontheDisc,’shesaidsweetly.

           Mortwashurtbythis.