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- Мор - ученик смерти
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- Стр. 165/357
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’
Uuunnyag
,
’
he
said
.
’
It
’
s
the
right
stuff
all
right
.
’
He
looked
at
the
boy
with
something
verging
on
admiration
.
It
wasn
’
t
that
he
’
d
drunk
a
third
of
a
pint
of
scumble
in
itself
,
it
was
that
he
was
still
vertical
and
apparently
alive
.
He
handed
the
pot
back
again
:
it
was
as
if
Mort
was
being
given
a
trophy
after
some
incredible
contest
.
When
the
boy
took
another
mouthful
several
of
the
watchers
winced
.
The
landlord
wondered
what
Mort
’
s
teeth
were
made
of
,
and
decided
it
must
be
the
same
stuff
as
his
stomach
.
’
You
’
re
not
a
wizard
by
any
chance
?
’
he
enquired
,
just
in
case
.
’
Sorry
,
no
.
Should
I
be
?
’
Didn
’
t
think
so
,
thought
the
landlord
,
he
doesn
’
t
walk
like
a
wizard
and
anyway
he
isn
’
t
smoking
anything
.
He
looked
at
the
scumble
pot
again
.
There
was
something
wrong
about
this
.
There
was
something
wrong
about
the
boy
.
He
didn
’
t
look
right
.
He
looked
—
—
more
solid
than
he
should
do
.
That
was
ridiculous
,
of
course
.
The
bar
was
solid
,
the
floor
was
solid
,
the
customers
were
as
solid
as
you
could
wish
for
.
Yet
Mort
,
standing
there
looking
rather
embarrassed
and
casually
sipping
a
liquid
you
could
clean
spoons
with
,
seemed
to
emit
a
particularly
potent
sort
of
solidness
,
an
extra
dimension
of
realness
.
His
hair
was
more
hairy
,
his
clothes
more
clothy
,
his
boots
the
epitome
of
bootness
.
It
made
your
head
ache
just
to
look
at
him
.
However
,
Mort
then
demonstrated
that
he
was
human
after
all
.
The
mug
dropped
from
his
stricken
fingers
and
clattered
on
the
flagstones
,
where
the
dregs
of
scumble
started
to
eat
its
way
through
them
.
He
pointed
at
the
far
wall
,
his
mouth
opening
and
shutting
wordlessly
.
