Мор - ученик смерти

           Themanturnedhisheadslowly,andnoddedatherwithoutsayingaword.SheturnedbacktoMort.

           ’Imustsay,’shesaid,’thatwiththewholeDisctochoosefrom,IshouldthinkFathercouldhavedoneratherbetterthanyou.Isupposeyou’lljusthavetodo.’

           Shesweptoutoftheroom,slammingthedoorbehindher.

           ’Havetodowhat?’saidMort,tono-oneinparticular.

           Theroomwassilent,exceptforthesizzleofthefryingpanandthecrumblingofcoalsinthemoltenheartofthestove.Mortsawthatithadthewords’TheLittleMoloch(Ptntd)’embossedonitsovendoor.

           Thecookdidn’tseemtonoticehim,soMortpulledupachairandsatdownatthewhitescrubbedtable.

           ’Mushrooms?’saidtheoldman,withoutlookingaround.

           ’Hmm?What?’

           ’Isaid,doyouwantmushrooms?’

           ’Oh.Sorry.No,thankyou,’saidMort.

           ’Rightyouare,youngsir.’

           Heturnedaroundandsetoutforthetable.

           Evenafterhegotusedtoit,MortalwaysheldhisbreathwhenhewatchedAlbertwalking.