Vincent van Gogh Cafe Terrace at Night

Vincent van Gogh Cafe Terrace at NightVincent van Gogh The BedroomVincent van Gogh Wheatfield with Crows
CONSOLATION, THOUGH, THE HORSE NEEDS TO BE FAST.
'Eh?'
Death allowed his fixed grin to widen a little.
I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH ITS RIDER TOMORROW IN ANKH, said Death. YOU SEE, HE ALLOWED THE DUKE TO PROVIDE HIM WITH A PACKED LUNCH.
The king, whose eminent suitability for his job meant that he was not automatically quick on the uptake, considered this for a moment and then gave a short laugh. He noticed Mort for the first time.
'Who's this?' 'That's my daughter,' said the king. 'I ought to feel sad. Why don't I?'
EMOTIONS GET LEFT BEHIND. IT'S ALL A MATTER OF GLANDS.
'Ah. That would be it, I suppose. She can't see us, can she?'
NO.
'I suppose there's no chance that I could —?'he said, 'He dead too?'MY APPRENTICE, said Death. WHO WILL BE GETTING A GOOD TALKING-TO BEFORE HE'S MUCH OLDER, THE SCALLYWAG.'Mort,' said Mort automatically. The sound of their talking washed around him, but he couldn't take his eyes off the scene around them. He felt real. Death looked solid. The king looked surprisingly fit and well for someone who was dead. But the rest of the world was a mass of sliding shadows. Figures were bent over the slumped body, moving through Mort as if they were no more substantial than a mist.The girl was kneeling down, weeping.