“Do
you do anything cheap?” Fiona asks, turning to the sandman. She's
surprised to see he's angry, walking forward and rolling up his
sleeves.
“Get
out of it,” he shouts, “I don't sell to the likes of you.”
“Our
currency is as good as any other,” the undertaker replies.
“Not
to me it's not,” the sandman spits, “Now go on, sling yer 'ook!”
The
undertaker moves on looking disappointed.
“Bleedin'
cheek,” the sandman says to himself, “Coming down here, asking me
of all people.”
“So
what's wrong with selling to him?” Fiona asks.
“He's
one of the new Deaths. I wont have anything to do with 'em. Not
after what they did to the Reaper. That's just lack of respect.”
