Мор - ученик смерти

           Whenshespokeagainitwasinthethin,carefulandaboveallbravevoiceofsomeonewhohaspulledthemselvestogetherdespiteoverwhelmingoddsbutmightletgoagainatanymoment.

           ’I’vebeensixteenforthirty-fiveyears.’

           ’Oh?’

           ’Itwasbadenoughthefirstyear.’

           Mortlookedbackathislastfewweeks,andnoddedinsympathy.

           ’Isthatwhyyou’vebeenreadingallthosebooks?’hesaid.

           Ysabelllookeddown,andtwiddledasandalledtoeinthegravelinanembarrassedfashion.

           ’They’reveryromantic,’shesaid.’There’ssomereallylovelystories.Therewasthisgirlwhodrankpoisonwhenheryoungmanhaddied,andtherewasonewhojumpedoffacliffbecauseherfatherinsistedsheshouldmarrythisoldman,andanotheronedrownedherselfratherthansubmitto—’

           Mortlistenedinastonishment.TojudgebyYsabell’scarefulchoiceofreadingmatter,itwasamatterofnoteforanyDiscfemaletosurviveadolescencelongenoughtowearoutapairofstockings.

           ’—andthenshethoughthewasdead,andshekilledherselfandthenhewokeupandsohedidkillhimself,andthentherewasthisgirl—’

           Commonsensesuggestedthatatleastafewwomenreachedtheirthirddecadewithoutkillingthemselvesforlove,butcommonsensedidn’tseemtogetevenawalk-onpartinthesedramas.Mortwasalreadyawarethatlovemadeyoufeelhotandcoldandcruelandweak,buthehadn’trealisedthatitcouldmakeyoustupid.