There were no witnesses. The house was empty, except for the cat and dog, and they're not talking.
I called up the chapter all innocent like. I even read it through one last time. The rest was painless.
With quick, clean clicks, I highlighted and deleted the 20-plus pages. Before they realized they'd been hanging in cyberspace far longer than usual, I renamed the file. And the necessary deed was done.
I've been working on the new chapter since then. The one that will connect the quilt pieces of my story, allowing me to stitch together the best of the many drafts I completed during my two years at Vermont College.
Will there be any regrets? I'm thinking not. The deed needed doing. Besides, I can always go back to the earlier version if I change my mind. Not that I expect to. Like the crate that houses the Ark of the Covenant in the first Indiana Jones movie, I never seem to need to revive my "saved" versions, after I dispatch them.