Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Hisname’sBinky,’saidAlbert,fasteningthegirth.’Itjustgoestoshow,younevercantell.’

           Bulkytriedtoeathisscarfinanaffectionateway.

           Mortrememberedthewoodcutinhisgrandmother’salmanack,betweenthepageonplantingtimesandthephasesofthemoonsection,showingDethetheeGreatLevyllerComesToAlleMenne.He’dstaredatithundredsoftimeswhenlearninghisletters.Itwouldn’thavebeenhalfsoimpressiveifithadbeengenerallyknownthattheflame-breathinghorsethespectrerodewascalledBinky.

           ’IwouldhavethoughtsomethinglikeFangorSabreorEbony,’Albertcontinued,’butthemasterwillhavehislittlefancies,youknow.Lookingforwardtoit,areyou?’

           ’Ithinkso,’saidMortuncertainly.’I’veneverseenDeathactuallyatwork.’

           ’Notmanyhave,’saidAlbert.’Nottwice,atanyrate.’

           Morttookadeepbreath.

           ’Aboutthisdaughterofhis—’hebegan.

           AH.GOODEVENING,ALBERT,BOY.

           ’Mort,’saidMortautomatically.

           Deathstrodeintothestable,stoopingalittletocleartheceiling.Albertnodded,notinanysubservientway,Mortnoticed,butsimplyoutofform.Morthadmetoneortwoservants,ontherareoccasionshe’dbeentakenintotown,andAlbertwasn’tlikeanyofthem.