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Nilp may come good in the ensuing Days
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As indeed, could that skirt-wearing slave-driver, if he is not a lupine. The same could be said, mind you, of most of the crew.
I must soon vote and depart, and I find I have little to go on. These Day One blues can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. They do not have to be this way (as our gallant late co-captain will vouch).
Now, I find myself, as I struggle with such paucity of material, turning my admittedly nebulous suspicion to the effete stowaway who began this talk of Day One boredom: Formendacil. I feel like my bluff is being called and I don't feel comfortable about it.
Nor do I feel entirely comfortable with this Eomer bandwaggon, which got underway before the man even had time to arrive and defend himself.
I could vote for Nilp in a bid to halt it, but I don't really feel comfortable with that either: I would prefer, to use a good nautical phrase, to wait and see the cut of his jib.
I will hold on for as long as I can - but I will have to cast my vote within the hour.