Мор - ученик смерти

           Itspendulumbladesawedslowlythroughtheair,cuttingtimeintolittlepieces.

           Mortgroaned.

           ’Thereisn’tenoughtime!’hegroaned.’Ican’tdobothofthemintime!’

           ’Themasterwouldhavefoundtime,’observedAlbert.

           MortwrenchedthebladefromthedoorwayandshookitfuriouslybutineffectuallytowardsAlbert,whoflinched.

           ’Writedownthespell,then,’heshouted.’Anddoitfast!’

           HeturnedonhisheelandstalkedbackintoDeath’sstudy.Therewasalargediscoftheworldinonecorner,completedowntosolidsilverelephantsstandingonthebackofaGreatA’Tuincastinbronzeandmorethanametrelong.Thegreatriverswererepresentedbyveinsofjade,thedesertsbypowdereddiamondandthemostnotablecitieswerepickedoutinpreciousstones;Ankh-Morpork,forinstance,wasacarbuncle.

           HeplonkedthetwoglassesdownattheapproximatelocationsoftheirownersandfloppeddowninDeath’schair,glaringatthem,willingthemtobeclosertogether.Thechairsqueakedgentlyasheswivelledfromsidetoside,gloweringatthelittledisc.

           AfterawhileYsabellcamein,treadingsoftly.

           ’Albert’swrittenitdown,’shesaidquietly,’I’vecheckedthebook.Itisn’tatrick.He’sgoneandlockedhimselfinhisroomnowand—’

           ’Lookatthesetwo!Imean,willyoulookatthem!’

           ’Ithinkyoushouldcalmdownabit,Mort.’

           ’HowcanIcalmdownwith,look,thisoneoverherealmostintheGreatNef,andthisonerightinBesPelargicandthenI’vegottogetbacktoStoLat.