Ah well. I'm trying to be Buddhist about not clinging to happiness and not saying to God, 'Encore.' But it was nice having friends here and I'm sad they're gone. And because it was great talking books with M again and because she said Max Gladstone's settei, as described by me, reminded her of C.S. Friedman's, I've rousted out the first volume of the Coldfire trilogy from where I hid tidied it away (after thinking 'oh rats must have despaired of ever getting to it and put it out on the lawn sometime') and started reading it.
(Wish I could remember what I did with Point of Knives as well. This is what tidying does: makes things unfindable.)