RIGHT.
Death pushed his chair back and stalked confidently towards the nearest wall.
OUCH.
Keeble watched expectantly. 'Go on, then,' he said.
UM. THIS IS AN ORDINARY WALL, IS IT?
'I assume so. I'm not an expert.'
IT SEEMS TO BE PRESENTING ME WITH SOME DIFFICULTY.
'So it would appear.'
WHAT DO YOU CALL THE FEELING OF BEING VERY SMALL AND HOT?
Keeble twiddled his pencil.
'Pygmy?'
BEGINS WITH AN M.
'Embarrassing?'
'YES,' said Death, I MEAN YES.
'It would seem that you have no useful skill or talent whatsoever,' he said. 'Have you thought of going into teaching?'
Death's face was a mask of terror. Well, it was always a mask of terror, but this time he meant it to be.
'You see,' said Keeble kindly, putting down his pen and steepling his hands together, 'it's very seldom I ever have to find a new career for an — what was it again?'
ANTHROPOMORPHIC PERSONIFICATION.
'Oh, yes. What is that, exactly?'
Death had had enough.
THIS, he said.
For a moment, just for a moment, Mr Keeble saw him clearly. His face went nearly as pale as Death's own. His hands jerked convulsively. His heart gave a stutter.
Death watched him with mild interest, then drew an hourglass from the depths of his robe and held it up to the light and examined it critically.
SETTLE DOWN, he said, YOU'VE GOT A GOOD FEW YEARS YET.
'Bbbbbbb —'
I COULD TELL YOU HOW MANY IF YOU LIKE.
Keeble, fighting to breathe, managed to shake his head.
DO YOU WANT ME TO GET YOU A GLASS OF WATER, THEN?
'nnN — nnN.'
The shop bell jangled. Keeble's eyes rolled. Death decided that he owed the man something. He shouldn't be allowed to lose custom, which was clearly something humans valued dearly.
He pushed aside the bead curtain and stalked into the outer shop, where a small fat woman, looking rather like an angry cottage loaf, was hammering on the counter with a haddock.
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