"WELL, IT WASN'T AS BAD AS THE PLAGUES," Death concedes grudgingly. "SO I'LL SAY NO MORE ABOUT IT."

"ASKING FOR A CHATEAU NEUF DU PAPE WOULD BE IN BAD TASTE I THINK, SO HOW ABOUT A NICE CHIANTI?" Death puts a bony finger to non-existent lips, shushing Miquel. "PLEASE," he grins at Cesare, "WON'T YOU JOIN ME?" He waves a hand at the opposite chair.