"Sometimes--" He turned on his shoulder a bit, toward her. His face was blank, a man under careful control, belying the casual way they spoke. Two acquaintances - friends, if he dared - having an easy chat. "I wonder, if she feels it. Those little brushes."

His eyes were dark, pitted, but for the distant lights caught in them.

"I 'magine she an' Death must be quite friendly."