Death - This

“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.”

***

Mort p140