Мор - ученик смерти

           Death’smanservantwasoneofthosestick-thin,raw-nosedoldmenwhoalwayslookasthoughtheyarewearinggloveswiththefingerscutout–evenwhenthey’renot–andhiswalkinginvolvedacomplicatedsequenceofmovements.Albertleanedforwardandhisleftarmstartedtoswing,slowlyatfirstbutsoonevolvingintoawildjerkingmovementthatfinallyandsuddenly,ataboutthetimewhenawatcherwouldhaveexpectedthearmtoflyoffattheelbow,transferreditselfdownthelengthofhisbodytohislegsandpropelledhimforwardlikeahigh-speedstiltwalker.ThefryingpanfollowedaseriesofintricatecurvesintheairandwasbroughttoahaltjustoverMort’splate.

           Albertdidindeedhaveexactlytherighttypeofhalf-moonspectaclestopeeroverthetopof.

           ’Therecouldbesomeporridgetofollow,’hesaid,andwinked,apparentlytoincludeMortintheworldporridgeconspiracy.

           ’Excuseme’,saidMort,’butwhereamI,exactly?’

           ’Don’tyouknow?ThisisthehouseofDeath,lad.Hebroughtyouherelastnight.’

           ’I–sortofremember.Only....

           ’Hmm?’

           ’Well.Thebaconandeggs,’saidMort,vaguely.’Itdoesn’tseem,well,appropriate.’

           ’I’vegotsomeblackpuddingsomewhere,’saidAlbert.