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- Death’s fingers drummed impatiently on the scytheblade, like a mouse tapdancing on a tin. He seemed to be thinking. He looked at Ysabell standing over Mort, and then turned and looked at the others crouching against a shelf.
- No, he said eventually. No. I CANNOT BE BIDDEN. I CANNOT BE FORCED. I WILL DO ONLY THAT WHICH I KNOW TO BE RIGHT.
- He waved a hand, and the sword whirred out of Ysabell’s grasp. He made another complicated gesture and the girl herself was picked up and pressed gently but firmly against the nearest pillar.
- Mort saw the dark reaper advance on him again, blade swinging back for the final stroke. He stood over the boy.
- ***
- Mort p201-202
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