Мор - ученик смерти

           Thoseinbetween...Morttooknote,markingtheplaceandcountingtheextralines,andestimatedthatsomebookswereaddingparagraphsattherateoffourorfiveeveryday.Hedidn’trecognisethehandwriting.

           Andfinallyhepluckeduphiscourage.

           AWHAT?saidDeathinastonishment,sittingbehindhisornatedeskandturninghisscythe-shapedpaperknifeoverandoverinhishands.

           ’Anafternoonoff,’repeatedMort.Theroomsuddenlyseemedtobeoppressivelybig,withhimselfveryexposedinthemiddleofacarpetaboutthesizeofafield.

           BUTWHY?saidDeath.ITCANTBETOATTENDYOURGRANDMOTHER’SFUNERAL,headded.IWOULDKNOW.

           ’Ijustwantto,youknow,getoutandmeetpeople,’saidMort,tryingtooutstarethatunflinchingbluegaze.

           BUTYOUMEETPEOPLEEVERYDAY,protestedDeath.

           ’Yes,Iknow,only,well,notforverylong,’saidMort.’Imean,it’dbenicetomeetsomeonewithalifeexpectancyofmorethanafewminutes.Sir,’headded.

           Deathdrummedhisfingersonthedesk,makingasoundnotunlikeamousetap-dancing,andgaveMortanotherfewsecondsofstare.Henoticedthattheboyseemedratherlesselbowsthanheremembered,stoodalittlemoreuprightand,bluntly,coulduseawordlike’expectancy’.Itwasallthatlibrary.