It's cold and sunny and the Front Lawn Bazaar is now in full swing. Today I registered a coup from a single house on Yarmouth: a cervical Magic Bag of the kind I use for my knee at night, but which is intended for neck and shoulders. Doesn't smell moldy or burned, so if it's in good nick, I shall reserve it for the downstairs couch, where I may now ice my knees and ease my shoulders simultaneously. While reading Deborah Harkness, because I also copped paperback copies of A Discovery of Witches and Shadow of Night. I'm not allowed to grab any more books, but I don't have a copy of Witches (vol 1 of the trilogy, read three years ago and largely forgotten) and I do have Shadow on my to-read list (vol 2, the one with Shakespeare.) But my copy of Shadow is hardcover, so the paperback is much more convenient.
It's not like I have high expectations-- the current Shakespeare Hist.fic is only passingly entertaining and so far hasn't much Shakespeare either. But I have it and want to read it and the sequel, if only to discover what this Ashmolean ms. is all about.