Hi,
People who don't mind run-ons, does the bolded section in this bother you?
Also:
1) Whey-like, wheyish, wheyey???
2) Bark-like, barkish, barky?
3) Ruched. I keep getting this highlighted as typo across software. I grew up thinking ruched was a word meaning something - usually fabric - that is thrown into loosely gathered folds or swags. It's in neither of my dictionaries. Do you know this word?
Thanks
pH
‘Where’s the boy?’ Josiah stormed into the groundsman’s pavilion. None of them was engaged in work and from the position of the sun he assumed it was their luncheon rest.
Coombes had his back to him and at first he was not sure he’d been the one to answer him. ‘He’s gone with the Earl Greville.’
‘The Earl?’
‘Yes, Mr Tanner. He left perhaps two hours ago,’ he said, his back still facing Josiah.
Josiah had risen early and checked the duty rosters Simms had prepared - he couldn’t recall Baker’s duties. Afterwards, the two stewards discussed the renovations needed for the ballroom. Although the Earl had no desire to hold his lavish receptions any more, it was the biggest room in the Manor, bigger than the hypostyle hall, even, and some effort should be made to make it more presentable. He didn’t expect gossip about the state of disrepair from outside the estate as no one other than he and the staff came and went - certainly the only companionship the Earl had enjoyed recently was that of his brother, and now that he had departed it was unlikely he would request the company of anyone else, despite his early threats to rent Bosthorpe.
He had enjoyed some lengthy - and friendly - discourse with the Earl himself, and wondered why he had chosen the boy for whatever caper had lately seized his mind.
Coombes remained a disrespectful stance and Josiah considered giving him a bruise on the other side of his face for his defiance; no doubt that was why he remained with his back turned, ashamed of the bruise he'd given him at the lake.
‘It is polite, if not customary, to face the person to whom one addresses, Coombes,’ he said, moving towards him.
Silence.
Josiah moved to Coombes, so close he could feel his own breath as he spoke. ‘Perhaps another Mr Tanner stands in front of you, eh?’ he said. The man stank as if he’d eaten rotten food and sh*t his clouts, and as Josiah looked closer, he saw scars weeping a wheyish serum down the back of the man’s neck.
‘What is this?’ he said, reaching out to touch the bad skin.
‘No!’ The groundsman said, spinning to slap his hand away.
‘What...?’ Coombes’ face looked a mix of melting wax and barky strips. His eyes glinted bright and defiant as usual but his face was barely recognisable.
‘It pains and itches,’ Coombes said. As he spoke his cheeks and jaw ruched in cracked wet fissures.
‘Good God, man, is it even you?’ Josiah said, then gathered his wits. ‘We must call for Doctor Fell at once.’
‘NO! No doctor. I won’t see that butcher!’
‘Mr Coombes, you cannot let such affliction go untended, you need the ministrations of a physician.’
‘I need the ministrations of the clergy. Fell’s scientific butchery won’t cure this,’ Coombes said. He used the long fingernail on his smallest finger to pry up a wet scab on his jaw line. Beneath, the gloss of thick blood bloomed and spilled.
People who don't mind run-ons, does the bolded section in this bother you?
Also:
1) Whey-like, wheyish, wheyey???
2) Bark-like, barkish, barky?
3) Ruched. I keep getting this highlighted as typo across software. I grew up thinking ruched was a word meaning something - usually fabric - that is thrown into loosely gathered folds or swags. It's in neither of my dictionaries. Do you know this word?
Thanks
pH
‘Where’s the boy?’ Josiah stormed into the groundsman’s pavilion. None of them was engaged in work and from the position of the sun he assumed it was their luncheon rest.
Coombes had his back to him and at first he was not sure he’d been the one to answer him. ‘He’s gone with the Earl Greville.’
‘The Earl?’
‘Yes, Mr Tanner. He left perhaps two hours ago,’ he said, his back still facing Josiah.
Josiah had risen early and checked the duty rosters Simms had prepared - he couldn’t recall Baker’s duties. Afterwards, the two stewards discussed the renovations needed for the ballroom. Although the Earl had no desire to hold his lavish receptions any more, it was the biggest room in the Manor, bigger than the hypostyle hall, even, and some effort should be made to make it more presentable. He didn’t expect gossip about the state of disrepair from outside the estate as no one other than he and the staff came and went - certainly the only companionship the Earl had enjoyed recently was that of his brother, and now that he had departed it was unlikely he would request the company of anyone else, despite his early threats to rent Bosthorpe.
He had enjoyed some lengthy - and friendly - discourse with the Earl himself, and wondered why he had chosen the boy for whatever caper had lately seized his mind.
Coombes remained a disrespectful stance and Josiah considered giving him a bruise on the other side of his face for his defiance; no doubt that was why he remained with his back turned, ashamed of the bruise he'd given him at the lake.
‘It is polite, if not customary, to face the person to whom one addresses, Coombes,’ he said, moving towards him.
Silence.
Josiah moved to Coombes, so close he could feel his own breath as he spoke. ‘Perhaps another Mr Tanner stands in front of you, eh?’ he said. The man stank as if he’d eaten rotten food and sh*t his clouts, and as Josiah looked closer, he saw scars weeping a wheyish serum down the back of the man’s neck.
‘What is this?’ he said, reaching out to touch the bad skin.
‘No!’ The groundsman said, spinning to slap his hand away.
‘What...?’ Coombes’ face looked a mix of melting wax and barky strips. His eyes glinted bright and defiant as usual but his face was barely recognisable.
‘It pains and itches,’ Coombes said. As he spoke his cheeks and jaw ruched in cracked wet fissures.
‘Good God, man, is it even you?’ Josiah said, then gathered his wits. ‘We must call for Doctor Fell at once.’
‘NO! No doctor. I won’t see that butcher!’
‘Mr Coombes, you cannot let such affliction go untended, you need the ministrations of a physician.’
‘I need the ministrations of the clergy. Fell’s scientific butchery won’t cure this,’ Coombes said. He used the long fingernail on his smallest finger to pry up a wet scab on his jaw line. Beneath, the gloss of thick blood bloomed and spilled.
