Мор - ученик смерти

           Shelookedathimfuriously.’What?’

           ’MynameisMort,’saidMort.’OrMortimer.MostpeoplecallmeMort.Didyouwanttotalktomeaboutsomething?’

           Shewasspeechlessforamoment,staringfromhisfacetotheshovelandbackagain.

           ’OnlyI’vebeentoldtogetonwiththis,’saidMort.

           Sheexploded.

           ’Whyareyouhere?WhydidFatherbringyouhere?’

           ’Hehiredmeatthehiringfair,’saidMort.’Alltheboysgothired.Andme.’

           ’Andyouwantedtobehired?’shesnapped.’He’sDeath,youknow.TheGrimReaper.He’sveryimportant.He’snotsomethingyoubecome,he’ssomethingyouare.’

           Mortgesturedvaguelyatthewheelbarrow.

           ’Iexpectit’llturnoutforthebest,’hesaid.’Myfatheralwayssaysthingsgenerallydo.’

           Hepickeduptheshovelandturnedaway,andgrinnedatthehorse’sbacksideasheheardYsabellsnortandwalkaway.

           Mortworkedsteadilythroughthesixteenths,eighths,quartersandthirds,wheelingthebarrowoutthroughtheyardtotheheapbytheappletree.