Death - trolling

An all-night barber sheared Mort’s hair into the latest fashion among the city’s young bloods
while Death relaxed in the next chair, humming to himself. Much to his surprise, he felt in a good
humor.

In fact after a while he pushed his hood back and glanced up at the barber’s apprentice, who tied
a towel around his neck in that unseeing, hypnotized way that Mort was coming to recognize, and
said, A SPLASH OF TOILET WATER AND A POLISH, MY GOOD MAN.

An elderly wizard having a beard-trim on the other side stiffened when he heard those somber,
leaden tones and swung around. He blanched and muttered a few protective incantations after Death
turned, very slowly for maximum effect, and treated him to a grin.

***

Mort p21