Net new words today, 4,300, to 76,100. I suspect by gross was closer to 4,600. The story continues, carrying me with it.
As usual, the WIP:
The Can Man had never held any illusions about Bayless' jealousies, either. That he should spend hours alone with Galendrace had been too much for the mortician to bear.
So they remained an uneasy triumvirate, the glossy sheen of friendship hollowed to a shell by the quiet, bitter competition which had gone on since the day of Bayless' near-drowning on the Iphagenian shore. That, as much as anything, was the reason for their hard trek to Black. The Can Man, under the name he'd used back then, could have pursued a plentiful trade in antiquities both genuine and freshly manufactured quite successfully among the coastal cities. But Bayless had grown to fear the water with unreasoning passion; and Galendrace had grown to love her nervous mortician with an equally unreasoning passion; while the Can Man had kept his unreasoning passions to himself, unspoken but hardly well hidden from those who knew him best.
|Originally published at jlake.com.|