Udo arranged himself to one side of me, and Vallefor across. Between us, I lay The Eschata, open to the Sigil, just in case.I did not throw it in the wastebin.
But it was a near thing. Especially now that I'm registering the excess of commas as well, which awareness, I fancy, will plague me until book's end.
(This, dammit, is what comes of ignoring the intuitive voice that says 'If Mlle Untel thinks this book rawks there's got to be something wrong with it.' Maybe I won't read Empire of Ivory after all, though the voting's split on that one.)
