My mysteriously vanishing blue t-shirt turned up at work where I'd forgotten I'd left it. The mysteriously vanishing grey pants have not turned up anywhere, which is puzzling, because I brought them in off the line last Saturday with my other pair of summer pants, both of which needed mending. I mended the stripey ones and have worn them all week. But the grey ones are not where they should be and not where I must have put them. Vexing and annoying.
Cool blows in at last. 12C tonight! Even my AC was never set that low. Welcome back, autumn: please stay this time.
C.S. Harris, Where Falcons Fall
-- such a trail of bodies follows sincere St.Cyr wherever he goes. So sad. Are we any forrader in his 'Are You My Spoiler?' quest. Well, only in the very last mention that it isn't the servant so now the possibilities have been reduced to two nameless candidates instead of three.
Nothing else. Heat.
Desultorily, The Armor of Light. Equally lackadaisically, if not more so, A Darker Shade of Magic. Everything goes wrong and will not go right in this book because it's that modern literary curse, a trilogy.
The last, or latest, Viscount Sincere awaits at the library, as does a Dorothy Gilman Countess Karitska novel. The former is the dread 'path of least resistance' read; the latter an unknown, because none of the early Mrs. Pollifaxes are available in paper form chez nos bibliothèques. I have my doubts anyway- spies are not my thing, even when they're dotty middle-aged female spies.