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…Words on the novel this morning in which our hero has a conversation with Alan Henderson; a mouthy, mohair-suited ghost-mod from the sixties. I could go on, I suppose; it’s only half past seven but I feel I’ve come to a natural pause and don’t really feel inclined to do more this morning.

I do seem to be on a roll at last, though I did pinch just under 250 words from Angel Dust. They’re both about disembodied spirits, they both have a snowy other world so, why not? Why do the work twice, I say?

Oh God; I’m plagarising myself. How sad is that? *G*

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