You're not a woman," he said finally. "You're the Grim Reaper with red hair!
I drive a motorbike, so there is the whiff of the grim reaper round every corner, especially in London.
I've cheated the Grim Reaper more times than anyone I know, and I'll fight like a wildcat until they nail the lid of my pine box down on me.
The Grim Reaper doesn't disappear. . . he catches up.
It feels like getting a back massage from the Grim Reaper: one must get comfortable with the most horrifying things in the world.
And, ah, who are you? What Horseman, I mean. ” Thanatos swung around. “Death. ” Cara swallowed. Audibly. “As in, the Grim Reaper?” He snorted. “That poser.
Do you know, every time I've seen you you've been like the Grim Reaper of goodwill and cheer. You should find another profession.