"excuse me? i say? excuse me?" said Gertrude "are you dead?"
"Are we dead Willie?" said Cohen.
"we ought to be dead. but i don't feel dead."
"i ain't dead!" roared Mad Hamish. "i'll knock any man doon as tells me a'm dead!"
"there's an offer you can't refuse" said Cohen, swinging himself on Holda's horse. "saddle up boys."
"but.. excuse me?" said Gertrude, who was one of those people afflicted with terminal politeness. "we are supposed to take you to the great Halls of the Slain. there's mead and roast pork and fighting in between courses! Just for you! that's what you wanted! they laid it on just for you!
"yeah? thanks all the same, but we ain't goin" said Cohen.
"But that's where dead heroes have got to go!"
"I don't remember signing anything" said Cohen. he looked up at the sky. the sun has set, and the first stars were coming out. every one of them was a world, eh? "
... "are you dead or not?"
Cohen scanned the snow. "well, the way i see it. we don't think we are, so why should we care what anyone else thinks? we never have. Ready Hamish? then follow me boys!"
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The last Hero, Terry Pratchett.