Putting aside my Fantastic London reading list for a bit, I scratched an itch by finishing one from the Horrible London pile, Jack Maggs. I got that from the Front Lawn Library practically before I knew there *was* a Front Lawn Library, back in the fall of 2007. So yes, have been trying to read it for a while. Am glad it's done with because it left me feeling grimy and grotty and coated with the stinking greasy stuff that's supposed to fill the air when someone has spontaneously combusted. Horrid place, Dickens' London-- horrid, horrid, horrid.
So I shall attempt to efface its influence (which gave me obscure bad dreams both Saturday and Sunday night) by reading Dodger.