Rene Magritte The Son of Man

Rene Magritte The Son of ManMarc Chagall I and the VillageMarc Chagall Birthday
you hear what I said, boy?'
Mort nodded. And then it'll be fourteen more barrows, only call it fifteen because I haven't swept up properly in the corner, and. . . .
'Have you lost your tongue?'
'Mort,' said Mort mildly.
She looked Death, you know. The Grim Reaper. He's very important. He's not something you become, he's something you are.'
Mort gestured vaguely at the wheelbarrow.
'I expect it'll turn out for the best,' he said. 'My father always says things generally do.'
He picked up the shovel and turned away, and grinned at the horse's backside at him furiously. 'What?''My name is Mort,' said Mort. 'Or Mortimer. Most people call me Mort. Did you want to talk to me about something?'She was speechless for a moment, staring from his face to the shovel and back again.'Only I've been told to get on with this,' said Mort.She exploded.'Why are you here? Why did Father bring you here?''He hired me at the hiring fair,' said Mort. 'All the boys got hired. And me.''And you wanted to be hired?' she snapped. 'He's