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August 4, 1677

The Sixth Worst Day of My Life

Miraculously, The 6th worst day of my life involved Jack only indirectly: four weeks ago, I watched my ship set sail without me aboard.

The Worst of All, of course, was the day I met those damn macaques, and worst days 2, 4, & 5 were the subsequent three days in the gaol with the chills&shakes from their cursed bites. Worst day the 3rd is private.

I wonder if Jack and Sean even remember I am gone. If they do they likely assume me dead and, having broken into my chamber, no doubt have taken to playing "cavaliers" and "roundheads" with my beloved  collection of coleoptera.

It's very likely they are drinking heavily and singing bawdy songs while doing so. Except for musing on the size and ferocity of the sources of the terrible jungle noises heard nightly; and, except for quelling the slow yearning for home and for Odyllia, and the gnawing fear I shall never return, this place has begun to bore me.

I must also post about my adventure, during which I believe I have found a true Font of Youth; should I ever leave this lush and awful land, our fortunes will have been made 1,000 times over. But not now. The good father must complain to Rome once more -- something expensive and unfathomably Papist, a Censer or somesuch, has broke Again -- and so I must cede the terminal to the urgent Needs of the Lord.


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