Мор - ученик смерти

           Itwasonethingnottowanttomarrysomeone,butquiteanothertobetoldtheydidn’twanttomarryyou.

           ’AtleastIdon’tlooklikeI’vebeeneatingdoughnutsinawardrobeforyears,’hesaid,astheysteppedoutontoDeath’sblacklawn.

           ’AtleastIwalkasifmylegsonlyhadonekneeeach,’shesaid.

           ’Myeyesaren’ttwojuuglypoachedeggs.’

           Ysabellnodded.’Ontheotherhand,myearsdon’tlooklikesomethinggrowingonadeadtree.Whatdoesjuuglymean?’

           ’Youknow,eggslikeAlbertdoesthem.’

           ’Withthewhiteallstickyandrunnyandfullofslimybits?’

           ’Yes.’

           ’Agoodword,’sheconcededthoughtfully.’Butmyhair,Iputittoyou,doesn’tlooklikesomethingyoucleanaprivywith.’

           ’Certainly,butneitherdoesminelooklikeawethedgehog.’

           ’Praynotethatmychestdoesnotappeartobeatoastrackinawetpaperbag.’

           MortglancedsidewaysatthetopofYsabell’sdress,whichcontainedenoughpuppyfatfortwolittersofRotweilers,andforboretocomment.

           ’Myeyebrowsdon’tlooklikeapairofmatingcaterpillars,’hehazarded.

           True.Butmylegs,Isuggest,couldatleaststopapiginapassageway.’

           ’Sorry—?’

           ’They’renotbandy,’sheexplained.

           ’Ah.’

           Theystrolledthroughthelilybeds,temporarilylostforwords.EventuallyYsabellconfrontedMortandstuckoutherhand.Heshookitinthankfulsilence.

           ’Enough?’shesaid.

           ’Justabout.’

           ’Good.Obviouslyweshouldn’tgetmarried,ifonlyforthesakeofthechildren.’

           Mortnodded.