Thomas Kinkade Victorian Christmas

Mort was, in fact, counting to ten.
'I'm not dead,' he said eventually. 'At least, I don't think so. It's a little hard to tell. Who are you?'
'You may one for breakfast.'
The man turned his head slowly, and nodded at her without saying a word. She turned back to Mort.
'I must say,' she said, 'that with the whole Disc to choose from, I should think Father call me Miss Ysabell,' she said haughtily. 'Father told me you must have something to eat. Follow me.'She swept away towards one of the other doors. Mort trailed behind her at just the right distance to have it swing back and hit his other elbow.There was a kitchen on the other side of the door – long, low and warm, with copper pans hanging from the ceiling and a vast black iron stove occupying the whole of one long wall. An old man was standing in front of it, frying eggs and bacon and whistling between his teeth.The smell attracted Mort's taste buds from across the room, hinting that if they got together they could really enjoy themselves. He found himself moving forward without even consulting his legs.'Albert,' snapped Ysabell, 'another