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Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Almost Sunday

Chapter sixteen is in the bag. It came in at 1385 words. There was plenty of time staring at the screen forcing the words out.

It's not good. I should probably run through it again before moving on, but I don't know if that will happen.

And right now, as you can tell, I'm drained of words. It's time for bed. Tomorrow is lunch with the niece who graduated HS this year. She's going to college way far away, so we won't see her too often after that.

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