Мор - ученик смерти

           ’Whatdoyouthink,Mort?’shesaid.Hervoicehadsoundedcrackedandquaverybefore.NowitsuggestedmuskandmaplesyrupandotherthingsthatsetMort’sadam’sapplebobbinglikearubberballonanelasticband.

           ’...’hemanaged,andgrippedthescytheuntilhisknuckleswentwhite.

           Shewalkedtowardshimlikeasnakeinafour-wheeldrift.

           ’Ididn’thearyou,’shepurred.

           ’V-v-verynice,’hesaid.’Isthatwhoyouwere?’

           ’It’swhoI’vealwaysbeen.’

           ’Oh.’Mortstaredathisfeet.’I’msupposedtotakeyouaway,’hesaid.

           ’Iknow,’shesaid,’butI’mgoingtostay.’

           ’Youcan’tdothat!Imean—’hefumbledforwords–’yousee,ifyoustayyousortofspreadoutandgetthinner,until—’

           ’Ishallenjoyit,’shesaidfirmly.Sheleanedforwardandgavehimakissasinsubstantialasamayfly’ssigh,fadingasshedidsountilonlythekisswasleft,justlikeaCheshirecatonlymuchmoreerotic.

           ’Haveacare,Mort,’saidhervoiceinhishead.’Youmaywanttoholdontoyourjob,butwillyoueverbeabletoletgo?’

           Mortstoodidioticallyholdinghischeek.Thetreesaroundtheclearingtrembledforamoment,therewasthesoundoflaughteronthebreeze,andthenthefreezingsilenceclosedinagain.