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I was preparing supper last night when Gregor -- or perhaps it was archy -- came out from under the refrigerator. I have enough insect-cunning in me that I waited until he was clear of the refrigerator before bringing my well-shod foot down in a decisive stamp.

I've struck a blow against literature everywhere.

I know they like places to hide. Unfortunately, I have too many places like that. I'll be working on that. And probably obtaining and deploying some boric acid, as that seems to be the #1 safest substance short of diatomaceous earth, given that when I read up on it, it was explained as working physically rather than biochemically.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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