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Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.They were gentleman-magicians, which is to say they had never harmed any one by magic -- nor ever done any one the slightest good. In fact, to own the truth, not one of these magicians had ever cast the smallest spell, nor by magic caused one leaf to tremble upon a tree, made one mote of dust to alter its course or changed a single hair upon any one's head. But, with this one minor reservation, they enjoyed a reputation as some of the wisest and most magical gentlemen in Yorkshire.
[This message has been edited by Magic Beans (edited November 13, 2004).]
Ten years for a first novel? Maybe there's hope for me yet!
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They were gentleman-writers, which is to say they had never harmed any one by writing -- nor ever done any one the slightest good. In fact, to own the truth, not one of these writers had ever published the smallest piece, nor by their writing caused one leaf to tremble upon a tree, made one mote of dust to alter its course or changed a single hair upon any one's head. But, with this one minor reservation, they enjoyed a reputation as some of the wisest and most literate gentlemen in Yorkshire.
[This message has been edited by Keeley (edited January 31, 2005).]