This is my short yet deep bow to the translator of Terry Pratchett's novels into Czech, Jan Kantůrek, who died about a week ago.
However, the character of this short story could be anyone sharing his unique sense of belonging to the story as much as any of its characters.
The person was quiet.
They both knew one of them impersonates exactly what the other one is expecting while the other one knows that the first one knows and so on.
Finally, he encouraged himself.
"You know," he said, "I've always wondered what your voice sounds like."
IS IT RIGHT LIKE THIS?
"Perfect, my friend."
Death really wished to keep his reputation. This guy was expecting a cynical joke and he strongly wished to give it to him, but just now he could not do it. He did not remember many of those who called him "friend" and he felt blissful warmth to fill his empty ribcage.